


Captain Hook and the Sea Witch

by TheRedWave



Category: Peter Pan & Related Fandoms, Peter Pan (2003), Peter Pan - J. M. Barrie
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fate, Friendship, Golden Age of Piracy, Identity, POV Female Character, Slow Romance, Supernatural Elements, Tentacles, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-04-22 06:50:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 79,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14303199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRedWave/pseuds/TheRedWave
Summary: 'To be the truest version of yourself, even if your true self is an objectively terrible person.'Hook has been eaten by the crocodile, but when has that ever stopped him before? This story is going to get weird, but we'll find love along the way. Female OC/Hook. Features the Crew of the Jolly Roger pretty heavily, most of them being OCs.Story features dark themes, smut (though it's a slow burn, fair warning) and violence. Probably don't read it unless you're over 18 tbh.





	1. A Drought and a Draught

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome and thank you to whoever is reading this! This fic is based on some Hook dreams that I had, in fact the first six or seven chapters are just the dream, after that I try to make a story of the thing. 
> 
> This is a post-Neverland story, set after the events of the Peter Pan movie. It is a slow burn but will eventually have romance between Hook and an OC. Fair warning, this story isn't for everyone, it is a bit odd. Give it a go if you like, and see what you think.
> 
> Please listen to this song while reading this chapter, if you can. https://youtu.be/YCYaALgW80c .

 

**_1670_ **

_**Our location was unknown** _

_**(but we were almost certainly off course)** _

 

It was as a result of a lifetime of bad decisions and worse consequences that Anna-Maria and her elder sister, Charlotte, ended up in a creaking longboat in the middle of the blue sea, with no food, no oars, and precious little drinking water.

To be more specific, the aforementioned bad decisions belonged almost entirely to Anna-Maria. It was one of her few good characteristics, she thought in a moment of introspection, that she rather wished that all the consequences for her actions were her own as well. But unfortunately, here Charlotte was. Dear, stern, increasingly long suffering Charlotte, Anna-Maria thought fondly.

Her sister was cross with her. This, over recent years, had become more of a given than an exception to the rule. The sun rose in the east and set in the west. God reigned in Heaven, and Charles the II on the throne. Things fell down when they were dropped and Anna-Maria had done something to earn the ire of her sister. This time, she had to admit, the thing she had done was very bad and so Charlotte was very angry. But what else was there to do other than talk to one another? There were only so many hours she could spend looking at the endless flat expanse of the sea.

She'd best make a go of it, she decided, as she resisted the urge to drink all the luscious-looking sea water. At the very least, it would be a distraction, and who knows, it might actually get her somewhere this time.

She began "Sister dear-"

She was immediately cut off. "I won't hear it, Anna." Charlotte did not even look away from her inspection of the horizon. "Not this time." Anna-Maria waited for a few moments, stifling the hurt that had twisted in her chest. Charlotte looked out with that steady, hazel-eyed gaze of hers. Could she really believe she would see their ship out there? Or any ship? They had been in the longboat now for the better part of two days. Anna-Maria herself had decided to save herself the disappointment and had given up on rescue entirely, until it should present itself. She was not a despondent person, merely a practical one. On the first day, she had yelled and screamed for rescue until her throat was hoarse. For all the good that had done them.

She tried again, instilling sincerity in her voice. "Charlotte, truly, I am very, very sorry we are here. Most of this, really pretty much all of it, is my fault." When no interruption came, she continued contritely. "I truly am very sorry that we're going to die out here, but since we are, perhaps we could pass the time with some conversation?"

For the first time in hours, Charlotte's gaze ticked from the horizon to look her in the eyes. Her expression was both weary and thoroughly unsurprised. "Most of it?"

"Well," Anna-Maria defended herself weakly, "I can hardly think I should be blamed for the storms." She waited for an agreement; even a begrudging huff would have been enough. But there was only silence. "Oh Charlotte, really, you must admit that the storms were entirely coincidental!"

Charlotte held her gaze for one more moment, before turning back to her vigil. "You're not sorry. You're  _never_ sorry." She muttered. No resentment on her face. No real expression at all, really. Anna-Maria had long since lost the ability to shock, or even disappoint, her sister.

For lack of anything else to do, Anna-Maria peered into the water again. There was barely even a ripple, the surface was so calm. She tried not to lick her lips. There was only the barest ghost of a breeze to relieve her. The sisters wore little more than the undergarments and hats to shield their faces from the sun, but still, it was dreadfully hot. She wished again that she had not lost the oars, then she could have made the pretence of doing something, for all that she had never rowed before. She would not have even had a destination, since it was all water as far as the eye could see. Still, surely even exercise could be better than this mind numbing tedium.

She spent the rest of the afternoon wondering how bad fortune could bring her storms, but not a stiff breeze.

Night fell languidly. It was balmy but no longer scorching. She slept deeply, her head against her sisters leg. Despite sniffing once in indignation, a veritable explosion of emotion, Charlotte made no move to dislodge her.

 

* * *

 

The sun rose, and with it, glory.

Charlotte had already begun her hopeless vigil by the time the younger sister awoke. She yawned, stretched and flailed about for the water flask. She groaned to find that it was empty. Charlotte must have had the last of it in the night. She could not really blame her. Sighing, Anna-Maria made her decision. She would have some of that sea water, madness be damned. What did it matter when she was doomed regardless? If she must die of hunger and exposure, at least she would not die thirsty. Reaching out a hand, she leaned over the side of the boat, and saw it.

Money, sweet, sweet money. Well, not money in its proper form, pound notes and such, which would have been ridiculous. But beneath the surface of the blue blue sea were things that could be turned into money, which was almost as good. And so close that she could nearly have reached out and touched it. She could have wept for joy.

She stared in wonder and began to grin a wide grin. There was a ship made of solid gold in the water beneath them. Had she ever seen such a beautiful sight? The immense ship looked cast from a single vein of gold; mast, deck, helm and all. Strewn about the golden deck were chains, ingots, plates, rivers of gold. Curiously, she found that the longer she looked, the clearer the water seemed to become, as though she were some hawk gazing down upon prey. Further down, still within swimming distance by her reckoning, she saw golden chests of treasure littering the sea floor. From within, she saw light spilling out.  _Gems,_ she knew instinctively. They would be the size of her fist, her heart whispered to her. More than even she could spend. All she had to do was reach down-

She heard, as if from a great distance, Charlotte tutting under her breath, asking what on earth she was looking at, foolish girl, and then she too gazed into the water, and fell abruptly silent.

Anna-Maria whispered hoarsely. "Do you see it, sister? Do you see it?" She needed to know that Charlotte could see it. She had to know this was not some fever-dream, but true deliverance.

She leaned forward, heedless of the boats tipping, and caressed the water as a mother might caress a sleeping babe. She felt, rather than saw, her sister nod. She thought that if she could bear to rip her eyes from the fortune, her fortune, she might see a look of real shock on her sisters face. Certainly such loveliness was impossible to grasp with cold hard reason. Her hand slipped further into the water, past the wrist. The gold gleamed at her encouragingly. Anna's ears were filled with a lovely ringing, the song of her delight, and her heart filled with lust. She must have it. She  _must_ have it. She had come so far, seeking salvation from her poverty, and here was the answer to her all prayers. It was nearly over. The years of regret, and shame, and apologising. No more. Beneath the waters lay deliverance.

The boat lurched back as Charlotte stood up suddenly. The movement was enough to make Anna-Maria look up. Looming above her, fair hair tumbling down red shoulders, her sister divested herself of skirts, hat and jewellery until she stood in her small clothes. She was going to make a go of it, Anna-Maria thought giddily. The sea sighed in approval. Charlotte took a step, breathing in deeply, her eyes filled with tears, longing, and a sweetness that Anna-Maria had not seen on her in years. Her mouth hung slack and her hands convulsed at her sides. Something niggled at her, but she could not place it. She simply could not bring herself to worry.

Anna-Maria whooped in approval, and began to undress herself. They would bring the treasure up together. These last few weeks, the current situation with the longboat notwithstanding, proved that there was very little the two of them could not do when they were united, however rare such unity might be. "Think of it sister! All debts paid! All sins forgiven! We will go home to England rich, rich women!" She began to laugh as she undressed. She cast another look at her sister and slowed when she saw Charlotte weeping, gazing into the water.

''Mother.'' Charlotte whispered in a voice torn by love and hope and grief. "I am coming."

Something curdled in Anna-Maria's stomach. Her breath left her. She felt as though she was trying to wake from a dream. "Charlotte?'' She whispered. Something was not right. Mother... mother was dead. She had been for long, long years. Why could she not see the gold? Perhaps she had gone mad. For the first time in her life, her sister was about to do something stupid. Her heart was cold, deathly cold, within her breast. ''Sister, wait-''She lunged for her. Too late.

Her sister dived, her body cutting through the sea. As she hit the water, the waves broke the sight of gold. Something within her snapped back into place. Anna-Maria blinked, bleary eyed and panicked. What was happening? She screamed her sisters name and looked into the water. When the water stilled, she could see nothing but riches, but they did not sing to her now. Charlotte was gone. She screamed her name again. Something began to move up from the deep, towards her, its shape blurred and shifting. She dared to hope. Charlotte could swim like a fish after all. It broke the surface.

A necklace of fine gold links, with a single, egg-sized diamond hanging from it. As rich as her father had been during their better years, such a jewel as this had been beyond even their means. Her heart ached with longing. The jewel seemed to become bigger, brighter. Despite herself, she leaned towards it. Going for the ship was foolishness, she saw that now, but this one necklace could settle all her debts, for no real risk. She could no longer remember what it was that bothered her. The ringing sound returned and sang a fever pitch in her ears. She felt dizzy, her head swam, but still she did not snatched up the necklace. She would not. Something was very wrong, but what? It came to her in a flash.  _Charlotte, Charlotte, she is still beneath the water, she needs to come up for air-_

The boat tipped. She barely had time to draw in a shocked breath before she fell into the water like a stone.

She pinched her nose shut and looked wildly around her, eyes wide with desperation and fear. All about her, the water seethed with random, tumbling images of treasure, as fleeting as the air. The images were strangely flat, like poorly drawn pictures. A chandelier dripping with diamonds sailed past her weightlessly. None of it had been real. It had all been a mirage. A ship of gold beneath the sea… Ridiculous. How could she have believed it? Still the images boiled about her, and the chaos was such that she almost missed her sister beneath her, but her fair skin drew her eye. And lurking underneath her... a dark, twisted shape with a viciously barbed forked tail.

She forced down her fear and swam as fast as she could. It was not so far, and warmer than the lakes she was used to. Almost in passing, Anna-Maria realised that she did not feel a need to breathe. Her lungs were not burning for air. She had never been as good a swimmer as her sister and should have been struggling by now. The whole thing was like a horrible dream. What was happening?

As she drew closer, she could see the thing more clearly. It had the hair of a woman, but its face was obscured by a shadow and she could not perceive any one feature. Its head was turned up towards her sister as if in rapture. She held Charlotte with long arms in a terrible grip. A demon? A mermaid? Whatever kind of creature it was, it had made her see jewels that were not there. It had given her hope that she could have a future. She hated the beast like she had never hated anything. It would not have her sister.

As she grabbed Charlotte's arm and kicked upwards with all her strength, the things face snapped towards her. She felt the whole of its attention upon her. Her vision shuddered and for a moment, she saw herself in another life. Bedecked with jewels and on a kind mans arm, in a room with a roaring fire. Her sister looked at her with pride and love shining in her eyes. The room was filled with music, and the air...

 _This could be you._  She heard a sibilant voice whisper in her mind.  _All that you desire could be yours. Just be happy, that's all you need to do. Be happy._

With one last heave, she tore her sister away from the thing. Charlotte came to almost instantly. As they kicked towards the surface, her mind filled with hate and rage, she spared it one last look. Though she still could not see its face, she felt something from it. Loss. Hunger. Regret? It reached out its arms towards them.

Everything went black.

 

* * *

 

Anna-Maria woke up freezing cold and soaked through. Mixed in with the sound of waves crashing upon a shore, she could hear her sister weeping. What had happened to her? One moment, she had been resisting that foul thing in the water, and the next she was lying face down in sand. Her head pounded and every inch of her ached.

She raised her head from the sand and coughed up the ocean. She panted and lay there for an interminable time. She had seen enough to know that it was evening now. When some measure of strength returned to her, she flexed her fingers, feeling the silky sand beneath her. It felt marvellous. She had never thought she would feel it again.

She croaked her sisters name weakly. Her throat was agony. The weeping stopped abruptly. She felt a hand on her shoulder. She wanted to ask her sister to turn her over at least, but her throat hurt too much.

"Good, you are awake. We should talk."

She croaked in reply.

"Alright, I will talk, then. I think... I think that thing would have killed me, Anna. I could feel it- God in heaven, I could feel it feeding off of me. It gave me visions of Mother, and it-" She coughed to cover a sob. "If you had not come in after me, I would have died. I am... grateful, though I must say that I almost wish you had left me there. Perhaps we are both weak, after all." Charlotte couldn't even say thank you without leaving a barb. At least the events of the last few days had not broken her spirits. "I don't mean to alarm you, sister, but for some time as you lay... resting, I could see the thing in the shallows. Siren or monster or whatever it is, it has not given up on us yet. It keeps showing me Mother and Father, trying to get me to go in after it. Do not look at the sea, Anna-Maria."

Siren. It certainly matched what she vaguely recalled from myth. But how could such a thing exist in the world? Anna-Maria could not understand it. Having warned her of the danger, Charlotte rolled her over at last with a heave. Anna-Maria looked up at a glorious tropical sky, with the first stars beginning to peak out. She finally gathered enough strength to speak. "That's why it saved us? So it could continue to prey on us?"

"I think so, though I suppose we'll never know." Charlotte's tone became wistful. "I must say, all heartbreak aside, I think this might have been a good thing. We are on dry land. There must be water somewhere since the place is covered in trees. Fruit, probably. Coconuts, surely. And you finally got to see Mother. What did you think? Her portraits don't do her justice, do they?"

Anna-Maria thought for a long moment. "She was radiant. I have never seen anything so beautiful in all my life." Secretly, she was profoundly disturbed that Charlotte assumed she had seen their mother. The… siren… had shown them their deepest desires, after all. She had thought that Charlotte understood that their dreams were very different. Apparently she had been wrong.

They stayed like that until morning. Anna-Maria lying in the sand and her sister with her hand on her shoulder, gazing into a starlit sky.

When she awoke, she found that she could stand, with a little help. Her throat ached with thirst and she was abominably hungry. They had lost their food when they had fallen out of the longboat, though Charlotte had picked some little orange berries for them. Taking a handful of them, she stood up and looked around. To her English eyes, the place was a paradise. White soft sand, blue skies with not a cloud in sight, and a veritable jungle within walking distance. There was even a breeze. She firmly kept her gaze away from the sea, as beautiful as it must have looked. She did not think she would be entranced again, but she would take no chances.

As for Charlotte, she looked a little worse for wear. She had a great bruise on her arm where the creature had gripped her and her eyes were red from tears. They were both bedraggled and reeked of the sea. Anna-Maria spent a few minutes trying to pick seaweed out of her hair before giving up. She ate some berries. They tasted sweet but did nothing to sate her hunger. Their juiciness was divine though and soothed her throat a little. She hoped her headache would recede soon.

Whatever happened, it would not do to sit around all day and mope. They were English, even if they were women. Adventure, foreign lands, it was in their blood after all. Certainly there would be those who would say that being marooned on an island with little to no hope of ever seeing civilisation again did not count as an adventure, but Anna-Maria was determined to make the best of it. "If I do not drink now, I shall die of thirst this minute. Are you coming? We should explore. See what manner of island that beast left us on."

"You go, sister. There should always be one of us on the shore, looking for sails."

Anna-Maria grimaced. "You are determined, aren't you. Didn't you say last night that we shouldn't look into the sea?" Just yesterday, Charlotte had thrown herself into the ocean for a chance to be with mother. Now she sat sedately on the sands as if nothing pained her.

She need not have worried. "I think I am beyond the reach of the siren. It still sends visions to me, but the more I reject them, the weaker they are. I can barely see Mother at all now. You should go, see if you can find any water. Be careful, the island is quite large." Her sister seemed to have regained her stoicism.

Anna-Maria shrugged and set off. She tramped her way up the shore and into the verdant tree line. Palms, mostly, but there were other trees she could not recognise. How far exactly had the storms blown them off course? She heard strange birds but could see no sign of them. She reached out to touch tree trunks and rocks as she walked on, revelling in the feeling of touching something solid. She was smiling before long. Charlotte's warning did not much concern her. If she lost her way, all she had to do was pick a direction and walk until she found the shore. From there she would simply circle the island until she found Charlotte. She was confident she would not get irrevocably lost. She found that the more she walked, the more the stiffness and aches in her body began to fade, which she was very grateful for.

Being trapped on an uninhabited island might have seemed bleak to someone else, but Anna-Maria was not one to wallow in misery. Even if they were both to die on this island, it was still a better fate than what they had faced yesterday, and arguably a better one than what had awaited them in England. She thought Charlotte stubborn for continuing to look for hope where there was none, but perhaps the same could be said of her. As long as they could find water and something a little more filling than berries, she really thought things might be alright.

Eventually she heard the sound of water ahead and raced up an incline. A triumphant smile lit her face as she saw a little lake of shallow, sunlight dappled water. In the center of the lake was a little heavily wooded isle, barely more than a mound of dirt. If she had not just saved her sister from a sea monster, she would have thought the place magical. As it was, her understanding of the extraordinary had been redefined somewhat. The pale blue called to her. Laughing exultantly she skipped to the water and splashed about like a child for a while before scooping the water into her mouth and drinking mouthful after mouthful. The water tasted clean and sweet. She groaned in pleasure as the pain of her throat lessened. The day was getting better and better. She thought she spied little fish flitting about in the shallows, no bigger than the size of her hand. She had no idea how they would catch them, or even cook them, but here again was hope.

She could have turned around and brought the good news to her sister then. She did not. Her adventurous spirit was not yet quenched, if anything she was more curious than ever. This place was… odd, even to her newly opened eyes. The lake surrounding the little island seemed to be almost a perfect circle. She had spent most (virtually all) of her life closeted away in the family manor and while she had never wished for any other life, now that she was out of it she had a real desire to explore, to see and understand new wonders. It occurred to her for a moment that Charlotte might be worrying about her, but she dismissed the idea out of hand.

She waded towards the island. At its deepest, the water only reached her knees and was deliciously warm. She would bring Charlotte here and they could bathe the stench of the sea from them. She reached the island within a few minutes and relished the earth clinging to her feet. She would never take land for granted again. Or drinking water, for that matter. She looked through the trees and felt a little start as she saw… something. A pile of stones? Her curiosity was piqued and she headed towards it. It was no natural thing as she had first thought. It was a well. Tumbled down and sprouting weeds but a well nonetheless. It was even sheltered by a little roof. She looked at it with a mixture of trepidation and interest. She could not believe her luck. Was this another vision? But she could see no sign of the siren, and the water of the lake was so shallow she surely would have seen it had it been there. Moreover, the well looked very mundane, with not so much as a speck of gold upon it. She reached out a shaking hand and touched the chain stretching down into it. Rust crumbled onto her fingers. This was real. Strange and near miraculous, but real.

She peered down it and saw nothing but blackness. She could not begin to guess how deep it was. Her memories of the days within the longboat were still too vivid not to at least investigate the well. She pulled on the chain with a heave, half expecting it to crumble beneath her fingers. It did not. She was not strong and it took a lot of effort to pull it up, but eventually a bucket emerged from the well. It was less than half full, but It looked clean enough. She drank it all in a long draught. It tasted a little muddy, but not bad enough to make her feel sick. It was better than nothing. Her headache had begun to subside, though she was still terribly hungry.

As interesting a discovery this was, it was proof beyond question that the island had been inhabited at some point. For all she knew, it might still be inhabited. It was a frightening thought. If they were not alone here, they could not assume their fellow inhabitants would succour them, or even tolerate their presence. Anna-Maria felt a chill despite the warmth of the day. If they were savages, it could be fatal to be seen. Suddenly she felt very vulnerable, in a way that she hadn't since she had left England. She was acutely aware of her state of undress. She looked around warily and saw no-one. Truly, the well did not look as though it had been used for some time, but there was no certainty. She needed to get back to Charlotte, she could delay no longer. They could be in danger.

Anna-Maria all but raced through the jungle, trying as hard as she could to remember the general direction the beach where she had left her sister. The birds fled at her loud approach and the jungle lay silent around her. She no longer stopped to caress the trunks or admire the exotic beauty of the place. It seemed intimidating to her now. In her mind's eye she saw enemies skulking behind every tree, and traps lying beneath the very earth she ran on. She did not know how long it took her, only that it felt too long. By the time she broke through the treeline to hit the beach running, the sun was high in the sky. She looked around wild eyed, having worked herself into a state of near delirium. Carried on the breeze, she could hear screams. Choking back a sob, she ran off in the direction they were coming from.

She was both shocked and gratified when she saw Charlotte standing alone, screaming on the sands. What was the matter? She was close enough now to hear that Charlotte was calling out her name. She cried out to her and Charlotte turned immediately. She was unhurt and beaming. In her hand she carried a large, knotted piece of driftwood.

"Charlotte, for God's sake, what's the matter? I thought you were hurt! I have news! I found water and a-"

Charlotte's hands fluttered over her mouth, silencing her. Her expression was more joyous than she had seen since they were little girls playing together. "Later, Anna-Maria! Look, look! On the horizon!"

Anna-Maria turned to the horizon and the last of her fears vanished. It was distant, but she could see it. A ship. Barely more than a smudge on the horizon, but still. Despite all odds, despite her horrible luck, there was a ship. A chance of rescue! Thank heavens one of them had remained on shore.

"Pray, Anna-Maria, pray to God they have someone in the crow's nest!"

"They will see us." Anna-Maria said with certainty. "I know it. They will see us, and we shall go back home!"

The two sisters waved at the horizon and sang and cheered, dancing on the sand with linked arms. They were exultant. They laughed and talked of how things would be when they made port, devoid of treasure but still alive. They might not be really be able to go home, but at least they could find some sort of civilisation. It was the best ending they could have hoped for, all things considered. For a time, all that lay between them was forgotten as they celebrated together. They were to be saved at last.

Before long, the ship became clearer and was obviously heading towards them. The sister sang the praises of whatever fine gentleman was in the crows nest. The ship came closer still before one of them had the sense to look up. When they did, they saw a black flag, marked with a skull and crossbones. Anna-Maria felt her heart drop to her stomach. They looked at each other for a long moment in disbelief, then back to the flag, then back to each other again. She watched as her sisters smile warped into a rictus of despair. Terror consumed her as her whole body began to shake. She had to do  _something_ to get them out of this, but she could not think of a single thing. She could not tear herself from where she stood. She heard her sister whispering to her, urging her to do something, but she could not focus on the words. Her entire world had shrunk to the dark ship inexorably approaching them, she could look nowhere else. They must have been seen. There could be no doubting it. They had done everything they could to draw the attention of the ship. In their naivete they had doomed themselves.

She snapped out of it when she felt Charlotte's nails digging into her arm ferociously enough to draw blood. She cried out in pain. Finally she could hear her sister hissing, "Move, Anna, move!" and tugging at her arm. Her fear was not dispelled but the desperation and anger in her sisters voice brought her back to herself.

She let herself be led, stumbling at first and then running, up the beach and into the trees. She cast a despairing look over her shoulder, face streaked with tears and pupils blown with horror. Was the ship closer than when she had last looked? She cried out in despair, still tugged along by her sister as they raced through the trees as fast as their legs could carry them. She could not see or hear them, but she knew they would be drawing nearer and nearer every moment. Their hunters would be relentless and without mercy. Lawless, godless men, driven only by cruelty and greed.

Pirates.


	2. Out of the Frying Pan...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When reading this chapter, please listen to these songs if you can. 
> 
> https://youtu.be/nzht1l3UkKE
> 
> https://youtu.be/pOIzwV8SzpQ
> 
> https://youtu.be/WT-eH5MP1R4

 

Hunger, thirst and injuries were forgotten in the hours of terror that followed.

The sisters tore through the jungle at a breakneck pace, knowing that to linger meant death and worse. Eventually Anna-Maria was able to tear her arm from Charlotte's grasp and continue by her own strength. Charlotte weaved her way through the trees ahead like a gazelle, never looking back. She thought the sound of their passage through the jungle was deafeningly loud, that surely the pirates could hear them from the shore. Though it was possible that may have made it into the jungle already.

It was late afternoon and already the light was beginning to fade. For a moment they stopped to catch their breath as Charlotte listened and peered through the trees for signs of pursuit. Anna-Maria had no idea where they were headed. It all looked the same among the trees, though she did not think they were heading in the direction of the beautiful lake she had discovered hours ago.

"Where do we go? Is there anywhere to hide?" She gasped out between breaths. She was not much used to exercise and she felt more tired now that she had stopped running. Her heart hammered in her chest like a drum.

Charlotte's voice was very quiet. "I have no idea. I have never come this far in before. Do speak quietly, Anna."

Reader, I hope that if you ever have cause to flee from pirates in an unknown place, that you will have the common sense not to choose as a guide someone who utters the words, 'I have no idea, I have never come this far before.' To an astute sort of person, it may seem ludicrous that Anna-Maria should submit now, when it was she, not Charlotte, who had spent hours exploring the jungle and knew the lay of the land better.

The sad truth of Anna-Maria is that while she is brave, resourceful, and quite adventurous, she lacks the faith in her own abilities to question the plans of her sister and take the lead. She had spent so long being told that she was her inferior in so many different aspects that it became her natural inclination to fall behind and go along with whatever Charlotte was planning. Certainly she was not very wise and lacked her sisters cunning, but in this case, things might have turned out very differently if the person who had led the escape had been someone who had taken more than ten steps into the jungle.

As it was, however, Charlotte's often used reprimand about the volume of Anna-Maria's voice hit hard. Properly chastised, Anna-Maria whispered. "Then what is the plan? Where are we running?"

Charlotte managed a shrug. "It does not really matter where, Anna. If we stay on the island, we will be caught sooner or later."

Anna-Maria wanted to scream. She wanted to go back to England. Most of all, she wanted Father. She wanted someone to save her from this, the ultimate consequence of her frivolity and stupidity. "So our choices are to swim into the sea and be caught by that demon, or stay on the island and be taken captive by pirates?"

Charlotte shook her head and began to make her way through the trees again, albeit at a slower pace. Anna followed. "There is a third choice, though it will require courage. It is our best hope, I think."

"I'm listening." What else could she do? Surrender was not an option. And Charlotte had always been the better thinker of the two of them, she was not too proud to admit it. Any plan she had was probably worth trying.

"By my reasoning, there are likely dozens of pirates aboard that ship. But surely they will send only a few of them after us, by longboat, I expect. The rest will guard the ship. Do you agree?"

"I… suppose." She knew almost nothing of the practicalities of piracy. But what her sister said made some sense.

"It seems to me that our best course is to evade capture until night falls, then circle back to shore, take their longboat, and head out to sea in it. We could get quite far in a few hours. They could even have supplies. From there, we wait for rescue."

Anna-Maria felt her newfound hopes begin to sink. "You make it sound so easy. How can we seize a boat from pirates? They are fighting men, Charlotte."

"Indeed, and were they chasing more dangerous prey, they might be careful. I believe that since they are only after two young, unarmed women, and barely clothed young women at that, they will lack caution. I think they will probably have left the longboat unguarded or nearly so. If we are careful and brave, I think we can overcome one or two pirates. Besides, if we are in luck, and if they are anything like the sailors aboard our last ship, they will be drunk."

Anna-Maria thought the chances that they would be drunk were very good and said so. She was all but convinced, but she could not help but question further. "You might be right, sister. They cannot think we will pose any real challenge. But even if we get to the longboat, what then? We cannot simply row into the distance with the ship looking on. They will give chase."

Charlotte made a noise of begrudging agreement and gave her a look. She thought she could see a glimmer of respect in her eyes. "True enough, sister, but can a ship such as that sail through shallow waters? I think not. Perhaps we can make our way about the island and find some sort of shelter somewhere. We can wait them out, at least. We are tantalising prey now, but in a day? A week? Surely no pirate captain would choose to belay piracy for the sake of tormenting some young girls, no matter how tempting a prospect we might seem."

Anna-Maria thought, but did not say, that a pirate ship would not have to get close to them to sink them. They would certainly have cannons which they could fire upon them and their stolen longboat. Moreover, she thought that they would be lucky to get ten feet before some lookout saw them, or heard their oars splashing. She knew enough to know that sounds carried well over open water. "And if there is no shelter, sister? Shall we row out to sea again? You cannot still believe in rescue. It is likelier by far that we shall be caught upon the open water by the pirate ship."

Charlotte was silent for a little while, then said in a quiet but firm voice, "If worst comes to worst, and we are about to be captured, we shall throw ourselves into the water and trust the siren to find us. There are worse ways to die than from joy, even if in doing so we feed that foul creature. Only as a last resort, you understand. I shall not be made a coward." That shocked her. Was this what it had come to? Suicide? Certainly it was a better fate than what would await them aboard the pirate vessel. As a last resort only would she do such a desperate, dark thing.

Privately, Anna-Maria thought that their chances of escape were slim, very slim. But she had to agree that the plan was the best they were likely to have, and so she thought that they must get on with it. Better to make a real bid for freedom than to allow themselves to be caught. And as Charlotte had said, if all hope was lost, they could simply give themselves over to the demon in the sea. She voiced her agreement of the plan, trying to sound more confident in it than she was.

As they made their way through the trees, Anna-Maria resolutely put her hopes squarely upon her sisters cunning. She had no other choice, and now that her hysteria had passed she would not give in to despair. She tried not to think too long on the fact that Charlotte's plan was built on suppositions, assumptions, and hopes. She prided herself on her optimism, after all, and Charlotte had not failed her yet.

As the sun slipped towards the horizon, Anna-Maria moved as silently as she knew how. They crossed a little stream, then a craggy stretch, and plunged into more jungle with impunity. No more was the desperate flight born from the terror of the dread pirate ship. Without saying it aloud, the sisters knew that stealth was their best ally. The going was slower but safer by far, as they no longer left mayhem in their wake and thus made themselves harder to track, whether they knew it or not. Still they had seen neither hide nor hair of their pursuers. But Anna-Maria jumped at every sound and stared wide eyed into every bush, searching for movement. The shadows lengthened as if to strangle her. She had begun to shiver with fear again. Their mad flight and bold plan had lent her courage for a while, but as she crept she found that suspense was just as cruel as blind terror. Her commitment to the escape did not waver but as night fell all around her, fear tightened its grip upon her heart with every step.

They both came to a stop as they realised that the sun had gone. The night was alive with insects making their strange sounds. The time had come for them to make their way back to shore, and the longboat. Anna-Maria looked to her sister expectantly. For a long moment Charlotte looked about them and set off again, this time veering to their left. She followed faithfully.

The moon was unobstructed by clouds and the stars shone brightly, but still it was almost impossible to move through the darkness. Anna-Maria could barely see her hand in front of her, and for a few horrifying moments thought that she had lost Charlotte, until she whispered hoarsely to her and heard her reply. She did not know why she had not considered before how dangerous it would be to walk in an unfamiliar place in the dark. After that they stumbled along with hands linked, one arm ahead of their faces to avoid colliding into trees, which they still did occasionally. Their stubborness kept them going for a long time after they ought to have stopped. At last after Charlotte tumbled headfirst into little ditch, they came to a stop. Charlotte swore a very unladylike curse. Anna-Maria sat beside her with a grimace. She felt blindly about her to touch her sister's leg.

"Is it broken?" She murmured.

"I do not think so. It is only a little sore. Still, we might as well stop for a moment." Charlotte said with her usual composure.

Anna-Maria said hesitantly, "Sister, I do not hear the sound of waves breaking." Surely they should have reached the shore by now? She did not think it had taken her this long before, on her way back from the strange well. For the first time, though it was really too late, Anna-Maria began to have doubts that her sister knew where she was going at all.

Charlotte sighed. "No. Neither do I, Anna."

Panic gripped her. "We… We are not lost, are we?"

"Lost? Certainly not, we shall come upon the shore any moment now. Daybreak might only be a few hours off. We must find the longboat with all haste-" She stopped as Anna-Maria shushed her into silence. Charlotte obeyed instantly.

Anna-Maria had heard a noise in the distance, though she did not know what it was. She went very still. Minutes passed. Slowly, carefully, she peeked her head over the little crack they had fallen into. Her heart froze.

Dimly, she could see torchlight moving through the trees. Three, four touches. She ducked her head down immediately. Unbeknownst to each other, the sisters clapped hands over their mouths to stifle the sounds of their breathing. And there they stayed until the light of their torches drew so close as to be obvious to them both. Anna-Maria held her breath, still as a statue.

Faintly, she could hear the pirates talking to each other in harsh, strangely accented voices. "- by two little girls. The Captain'll make us all walk."

"Straight to Davy Jones." Another said, as if in agreement.

Finally she could hear the sounds of their movement, though only barely. They walked with a dreadful, predatory quietness. If they had not been talking, she thought the pirates could have walked right up to them without her hearing a thing. The voices grew clearer and she could hear the anger in them. "These wenches run like dolphins before the bow. We've lost their trail in this damned darkness. Never known women to run in such circles and figures of eight as would confuse even the best tracker. Let alone the likes of you."

She heard a thud as one man, presumably the tracker, hit another man, presumably the one who had spoken. Despite herself, Anna-Maria cast an enraged glare at Charlotte, to which her sister managed to shrug without moving her shoulders an inch. Circles and figures of eight, indeed! Her doubts were proven, though she would rather have been wrong than have her faith in her sister shaken. Then she realised that the light had grown strong enough that she could see her sisters face, and she became even more afraid.

A new voice said, "The Captain will brook no failures. Better to maroon ourselves here than to go back without the two women." She heard a man grunt in agreement.

"And what do ye propose we do, Mallett? Chase our tails around this island until dawn? The Captain will be losing patience. And ye know what happens when the Captain becomes impatient. We will come aboard to a skeleton crew." There was a chorus of horrible laughter at this.

There was such a long moment of silence that if not for the torchlight, Anna-Maria would have hoped they had moved on. Then one of them spoke again, she thought it was the first man. "We split up and search for a trail. Eyes peeled, lads. Meet back at the river at dawn, with or without the girls."

With a smatter of 'ayes', the pirates set off. Anna-Maria almost peeked up again until Charlotte grasped her arm firmly and pulled her down. She thought she heard a little noise that sounded like a flask being unscrewed. One of the pirates had remained behind. The sisters looked at each other grimly as the minutes wore on, and still they did not hear the pirate leave, nor see the light of his torch fade.

For an agonising time they waited for him to leave and search for them as he had been ordered. But after a while the horrible lout began to sing raucously, and it became very clear that he had elected to stay put and get drunk instead. It seemed her sister's theory about pirate sobriety was correct after all. Anna-Marie saw her sister point to her, and then point towards the man. She looked at Charlotte incredulously. Charlotte continued to motion towards the pirate, pantomiming striking the man. She pointed to a rather large rock that lay at their feet. Anna-Maria shook her head frantically. She did not mean…? She could not. She would not. It was madness.

But Charlotte was as immovable as ever. She pointed to the rock once more, then to her hurt leg, and shook her head. Charlotte could not do it. It was up to Anna-Maria to save them. She agonised over the decision for a moment, reasoning it out as best she could.

If they simply stayed in their little pit until morning, they would be found. And they had to reach the longboat before dawn. They could not survive a full day on the island with the pirates chasing them. They had only avoided them so far because of the cover of darkness. They had to reach the shore, and quickly, or be taken captive. Still, she did not want to do it. More than out of any real christian charity or pacifism, she knew it was the fear of failure and violent retribution that made her hesitate.

She also knew that very rarely, in her whole life, had her sister relied on her for anything. Perhaps she never had, until the moment she plunged into the ocean, chasing her dream of mother alive and well. Ever since childhood, Anna-Maria had relied on her elder sister to fix all her problems, but in recent years she had longed for a chance to redeem herself in the eyes of the only family she had left. Well, even if it involved committing a deadly sin, this was her chance to be a better sister. She would not let cowardice or moral scruples get in her way.

Her choice was made. She picked up the rock and slowly raised her head until she could see the pirate.

He was not so big and fearsome as she would have believed. He was shirtless and balding. He sat facing away from her, speaking in some strange pirate-garble while upending the contents of his flask into his mouth. He was not twenty feet away. He had staked the still-lit torch into the ground where he sat.

She hunkered down again and cast a last desperate look at Charlotte, hoping for a miracle, but there was to be no reprieve. Charlotte gave her a stony look and pointed once more in the direction of the pirate. She had no choice. Summoning every last bit of her courage, shaking from head to toe, she stood up with the rock in both hands. She waited for him to turn around and see her. Surely he would. He did not.

As if in a dream, she took a step towards him. A single step. She was careful to look where she trod so she would make no noise. And still the pirate did not turn. She took another step, and another. The man belched and laughed at himself while she flinched. She was undiscovered still. Her eyes raked the ground beneath her, she did not tread on so much as a twig. Closer and closer she came, until she stood right behind him. Slowly, slowly, she lifted up the rock and just for one moment, hesitated.

She made no noise that she could hear, but still the pirate must have sensed her presence. Drunken scallywag or no, the pirate had years of experience in battle behind him, and his reflexes were terribly sharp. And when he felt her killing intent behind him, he turned around, quick as a snake, reached for his pistol and fired off with an ear piercing bang. The shot went wide over her head. Fortunately for Anna-Maria, she was quite a bit shorter than the average foe of a pirate. His eyes had a moment to widen in shock before she brought the rock down on his head with all her strength and killed him. She was too shocked by the loudness and the closeness of the shot to feel anything. She looked down at his body with something close to awe before she recovered herself.

But it was too late, the shot had been fired. As Anna-Maria pulled Charlotte upright and dragged her limping into the jungle, she knew that it was no use. The pirates would have their scent again. They had lost their chance of escape, however slim it had been.

 

* * *

 

They were found within the hour.

The pirates circled them like wolves, jeering and laughing at them. There were four of them, which was four too many for the sisters to kill without the element of surprise. The sisters stood back to back. Anna-Maria had a new rock in hand and Charlotte had a branch which she brandished as threateningly as she could. Still the pirates laughed and tightened the circle. They drew pistols, swords and hatchets. Anna-Maria was beyond the point of fear and bared her teeth at them. Charlotte hit the first man who came close to her as hard as she could. He staggered but kept coming. The laughs became louder, nastier. Anna-Maria tried to brain the man who stretched his arm out to her, and failing that, she threw her rock at him. He went down and stayed down. When the next man came, more cautiously this time, she hit him and kicked at him like a wildcat. Casually, he punched her in the gut. She would have cried out if all the wind had not left her. She collapsed and was thrown over his shoulder before she even hit the ground. Her belly was a mess of agony. It burned when she breathed. Charlotte was screaming furiously to be put down. She was too exhausted even to move.

"Quickly, ye squabs! The Captain awaits! To the ship!" One yelled hoarsely. Anna-Maria was trying to summon the energy to elbow the pirate carrying her. The pain, hunger, exhaustion, and thirst hit her all at once. She found she could not move a muscle. With a frightening pace, the pirates set off. Though she was upside down, she thought she could see the one in front consulting a map by the light of his torch.

The pirates were obviously immensely proud of themselves for conquering such hardy foes as two unarmed young women, and the man carrying her began to dance a little jig as he took her away. He span her riotously and, quite by accident, knocked her head against a tree with a solid  _thunk._  Her head exploded. Anna-Maria fainted.

 

* * *

 

By the time she came to, she thought she could hear the sound of the waves. Her head had split open, a pulsing, agonising crack from the top of her head to the nape of her neck. She could not gather her thoughts properly. Everything hurt. What was happening?

She was lying on something hard and wet. Wooden. The events of the last day oozed through her mind. The longboat! She opened her eyes and saw she was crammed next to Charlotte. The wetness she had felt was blood. She supposed most of it probably came from her head. Her sister was sporting a red mark on the side of her face.

"Anna-Maria. Anna. Anna. Can you hear me?" She could just barely hear her. Sounds seemed oddly muffled, even the sound of the oars splashing. Anna-Maria nodded a little, then regretted it as her head screamed in protest. She saw that Charlotte's hands were tied in front of her. Her own hands were free. She supposed the pirates would not have seen much need to tie up an unconscious woman.

"Anna… They're taking us to the ship. I think it's time to… Do you remember what I said? If we couldn't escape?"

Anna-Maria gathered her thoughts as best she could. The last resort. Give themselves to the siren, and save themselves the indignity and the cruelty that undoubtedly awaited them about the ship. They had been lucky to have escaped relatively unscathed so far. But that was sure to change.

She did not think on it long. Perhaps she should have. But it was not a hard decision, as killing the pirate earlier had been. This felt right, in a strange way. They had done their best. They had fought as well as they could have, given that they knew nothing of fighting. Whether it had been because they had gotten hopelessly lost or through ingenuity on Charlotte's part, they had evaded capture for hours and had nearly escaped with their lives and dignity intact.

Anna-Maria was not one for philosophy, so for her the choice was simple. Her life, or her dignity? Which would she rather relinquish?

She thought of riches beyond measure and her loving family. She smiled. "There are worse ways to die."  _God forgive us._

She glanced at Charlotte's leg, which she saw was covered in blood and bruises. She was no doctor but it looked bad even to her untrained eye. Her vague plan for them to stand up and dive into the water would not work if Charlotte could not stand.

Anna-Maria looked around her and wrinkled her nose when she saw the hairy, unwashed ankles of pirates everywhere. She dared a glance up. None of the pirates were looking at her. They all looked with mixtures of fear and longing at the pirate ship, which was now very close indeed. They would be alongside it in moments. They were running out of time.

If she and her sister could not go to the ocean, the ocean must come to them. She looked up for something, anything, that she could use. She counted four men, the same that had come for them in the forest. Most of the pirates wore swords, they would not do, but one, sitting near her, had a hatchet at his belt.

Swallowing hard, Anna-Maria sat up a little and reaching up with a shaking arm, pulled the pirate's hatchet free of his belt. The pirate yelled in shock and looked down at her with startled eyes. Maybe the pirates had thought her dead. She must have looked a fright, looking up at them with her black eyes blazing, dark hair snaggled and littered with leaves and seaweed, her face smeared with blood and grime. Perhaps that was why the pirates did not do as they should have done and leapt upon her, or shot her dead. Instead they cowered from her for just a moment. It was long enough for Anna-Maria to raise the hatchet high and plunge it into the boat. She put all her strength behind the two-handed blow. Even so, while the boards cracked and splintered, it was not quite enough.

She managed a second blow as the pirates grabbed at her and wrestled the hatchet from her grip, screaming hoarsely, "Damn ye, mad girl, stop it! You'll doom us all!" and "Disarm her, lads!". Taking advantage of their distraction, Charlotte heaved with tied hands at the splintered boards until, with a great  _crack!_ they gave way, and the ocean poured in.

The pirates gave a great moan of fear and panicked. They loosened their grip on her and, cursing the sisters to a foul death, leapt into the water and began to swim for the ship. The sisters stayed aboard the sinking boat as it started to groan and ebb into the sea. The water was soon lapping around their ankles. They could not smile at each other, their victory was too bittersweet for that, but when Anna-Maria reached out a hand to her sister, Charlotte took it without complaint. They would go to the Beast, and then to God, hand in hand. Then she heard the pirates crying out in fear. Anna-Maria watched the pirates as they hammered at the ship and screamed for a rope to be let down. Why were they so frightened? The pirates looked down into the water and continued to scream. And then one of them was gone. Pulled under with a sharp jerk. The siren? But it had never taken them unwillingly, why were the men frightened? Shouldn't they be captivated by visions of plunder and naked women, or whatever it was that pirates dreamed of?

The longboat sank beneath the water with a gurgle. The sisters treaded water and looked at each other with trepidation. She could see no gold in the water around her, though she could just barely see dark shapes moving beneath her. More than one siren? A second man disappeared, and the water around the remaining pirates turned red.

Near the men she saw a long sharp fin emerge from the water with shocking speed, but it went under again and was gone. Her face lost its colour. Sharks. She looked down. She counted three, four,  _more_ , shapes around her.

If pirates could not climb the ship, neither could they. And if the pirate Captain would not let down a rope for his own men, he would not let one down for them. Certainly they could not make it to the ship before being caught by the sharks. "Oh sister, what have I done? We shall be eaten!"

Charlotte looked frightened but did not let it show in her voice. "Yes. But we shall not be raped, or sold as slaves."

Not for the first time, Anna-Maria clung to the strength of her sister as her own courage threatened to desert her. She could see the shapes beneath the water much clearer now. Hammerheads, huge creatures. Queerly, she felt as though their attention was on her. Perhaps because she was the most injured. In her condition it was quickly becoming hard to tread water, and Father had once told her that animals could sense weakness.

Where was the dream she had been promised? Where was the siren? Why had it not come? Perhaps the sharks had frightened it off. She had not wanted to die like this. She could think of little so barbaric and horrifying as being eaten alive.  _Anything other than this._ She wished fervently, praying to God internally with all her strength. She could hear Charlotte praying aloud as the sharks drew nearer and nearer.  _Almost anything. Death at sea, no body to be buried decently, rotting in the belly of a creature too stupid to feel anything other than hunger._ She thought of the way the pirates had screamed as they were dragged under. She supposed they must all be dead by now.  _Serves them right._

It was too much to hope that the creatures had eaten their fill. She could see them all about her, swimming lazing circles. When they broke the surface of the water, she could see them staring with their abyssal eyes. Huge grey creatures with their strange heads, so alien in their streamlined deadliness. Their hunger for her was almost tangible. One made straight for her and she screamed and flailed at it. Charlotte was praying desperately behind her. It veered off at the last moment. It had been almost close enough to take her. Did the creatures normally play with their food? Another came, and another. Each time she shrieked and cried and lashed out. She hit one to no real effect but she did not care. If she was going to be eaten, she would make the damn things work for it. She could hear a man's laughter from the ship. Rage crept upon her at the thought of her suffering being a joke. Pirate or not, what sort of man could look upon two helpless young women being terrorised by sharks and laugh?

Another came for her, opening its gaping maw to devour her. the reek of its breath struck her and she almost lost consciousness with terror. Then there was a colossal  _bang!_  as the shark's head exploded in a red mess all over her. For a moment, covered in gore, she could do nothing but tread water and gape. Then she looked up. The shot could only have come from one place.

There. Standing above the railings of the ship, she could see a male silhouette, clad in a long coat and an immense hat. He appeared to be taking aim with a pistol, of all things.  _Good God, he could hit us!_  She clapped her hands over her ears an instant before the shot fired off. She knew without looking that another shark had been killed. The man was still laughing. He was being cheered by the other pirates on the ship as if he were aiming at quails on a family estate, rather than gambling with their lives.

"Let down a rope, for the love of God! Let down a rope!" Charlotte cried as a shark that was making for her fell to the pistol of the madman.

But only when there were no more sharks left to kill did the pirates let down ropes for them. There must have been the remains of dozens of sharks in the water about her as she swam for the rope, to the mocking laughter and whistles of the pirates above. Not knowing what she did, her trembling fingers tied the rope around her waist as tightly as she could. She returned to her sister and did the same for her. Charlotte's face was red and her eyes stared almost vacantly into the sea. She knew her own gaze would likely be the same. It was a wonder they had not fainted at the first sign of the sharks. It was no less a wonder that the pair of them were not shot to pieces by that scoundrel aboard the ship.

With many a jerk, they were pulled out of the redness of the sea and onto the wooden deck with a cruel thunk. When Anna-Maria hit the deck, she saw that her legs were trembling. Arms were thrust under her shoulders and she was hauled roughly upright.

They stood aboard a creaking ship of dark wood. One ship looked much the same as any other to her, but this one was exactly what she would have imagined if someone had said the words 'pirate ship' to her. It looked disreputable. Compared to their last ship, the deck was cramped and dirty. Much of the space was taken up by an immense cannon that was mounted before the main mast and as for the worst of it...

Standing before her was a ragtag group of criminals. Even by the standards of a girl decorated in shark brains, the pirates were a stinking and filthy lot. There must have been at least two dozen of them, wearing a strange collection of rags and fraying finery. Their wretchedness granted them a degree of anonymity; though many of them had distinguishing features (an eyepatch here and there, or a necklace of finger-bones) she could hardly tell one man apart from the next. The sisters had no such luxury. Every pirate eye aboard the vessel was fixed upon the two young ladies.

But one man stood out from the rest as a diamond from silt. Indeed, it would have been impossible for him not to stand out, for he was dismounting from the backs of two pirates on their hands and knees. He held a smoking pistol raised to the sky. He looked terribly proud of himself. Had he been using his fellows as a stool? For the first time she could remember, Anna-Maria was speechless.

The shooter was clad in great many-plumed hat of royal blue and gold with a matching suit. He wore his hair in good fashion, chestnut ringlets hanging past his shoulders. He skin had all the colour of a ghost and his eyes were near as pale, like chips of glass in his face. And in the place of a right hand… a vicious hook, polished and glistening like a prized jewel. Anna-Maria forgot herself and goggled at him openly. Never before had she seen a man so horribly crippled, or so out of place with his surroundings. He looked like a prince among beggars. Though… some parts of the costume (for costume it was, Anna-Maria was suddenly certain) did not seem quite right. The lace sleeves were the wrong colour. The hooped earrings were outrageous. The golden rapier he wore at his waist and the ensemble of his suit were just too elaborate for a ship's captain.

As a woman from a wealthy family, she had been taught to read the signs of a person's dress to discern as many details as she could about their character and status, and in this man she saw so many contradicting factors that she did not know what to think. Was he a poor man risen too high above his station, or a man of breeding fallen too low? It was all wrong and she looked upon him with fear and disgust both.

The man broke the silence abruptly. He spoke with high good humour in a rolling voice. "Finally the ladies have deigned to join us. How delightful."  _We would have been here earlier, if only you had let down a rope BEFORE the sharks swarmed us! Vile man!_

The crew laughed as if he had said the funniest thing in the world, tearing their gaze from the sisters to fawn over their leader. Anna-Maria seethed and lurched forward, intending to slap him, but the pirates clinging onto her pulled her back. The man, the Captain, for Captain he must be, pantomimed an appalled expression before smiling wickedly at her.

She heard Charlotte made a croaking sound in the arms of the pirates who held her. Her hands were still tied before her. The pale eyes of the Captain swept away from her to look upon her sister. "Do speak up girl. I believe introductions are in order. I," and he said this with a dramatic air, "am Captain James Hook, of the Jolly Roger. These mangy curs are my crew. And you are?"

Charlotte locked eyes with the pirate and, with a smooth sort of ripple of her face, assumed a delighted expression, pulling a curtain over the stern distaste she must have felt. Anna-Maria could hardly have believed it if she had not seen her do it in the past, when the debtors stopped writing letters and came in person to the family manor.

"Oh sir, heavens bless you. I am Miss Georgiana Besswicke, and this is my sister, Miss Annabelle Besswicke. We are so very in your debt, my sister and I. Annabelle dearest, are we not in his debt?" The crew went still at this. She could have heard a pin drop.

Anna-Maria looked at her sister and said nothing. Charlotte was using the names they had given aboard their last ship, and they had hardly served them well. The gaze of the Captain settled on her again. He looked rather like a cat who, thinking the mouse he had tormented was dead, suddenly saw the thing begin to prance before his very eyes. It was a mixture of haughty offense and the first stirrings of amusement. Still Anna-Maria said nothing. Charlotte sent her a Look.

Charlotte had perfected giving her Looks on the year of her majority. It was a sort of expression that conveyed a lot of emotions all at once. At its most effective, a Look could be used to nearly allow the sisters to speak to one another without uttering a word. This particular Look told Anna-Maria that she had better swallow her snarls and act her part, or she would receive a serious talking to later. Anna-Maria sent her a Look of her own of pure protest, which Charlotte smacked down with a tightening of her eyes. Once again, her sister had left her without any choice but to do as she was told.

Anna-Maria turned back to the Captain and simpered as best she could. "Yes, Georgiana, quite indebted. Never have I seen such…" She paused for a moment. The crew were hanging on every word. The Captain was looking from one sister to the next with his cool eyes narrowed. "... such an example of Christian charity, Sir."

Still the crew did not say a word, nor its Captain. They were spellbound by the sheer gall of the lie. Charlotte wriggled her way free of the men holding her and approached the Captain on dainty feet.

Charlotte was a beautiful woman. To say so was not a compliment, merely truth. Where Anna-Maria looked almost the twin of their Spanish mother, Charlotte took after their Father with her pale eyes, skin and hair. She was taller than most women and slender, with a long graceful neck and blonde hair. Even in her current condition, her elegant walk and soft voice could serve her well, and her eyes were still that intriguing shade that flickered between green and brown with the light of the sun. Many young men had written many a letter to Father about Charlotte, before their family's decline. Certainly some had continued to write after the fact, such was her loveliness, which even the sharpness of her tongue and her mind could not abate.

Anna-Maria, thinking back on this moment later, did not think that Charlotte had intended to seduce the Captain, for Charlotte would never be so vulgar as to contemplate seduction. But certainly she had intended to use whatever means at her disposal to win them passage to England, and if an aura of feminine helplessness could soften the Captain a little, she would try it. Anna-Maria had never admired her sister more than she did in that moment. The crew gathered about the Captain seemed to sway a little at her approach.

"Such heroism, sir, we are quite moved. You will forgive us our little presumptions if we say that that was simply the most astounding shooting we have ever seen. What say you, Annabelle?"

Anna-Maria managed a somewhat convincing smile as the pirate Captain slowly raised his hook to caress his mustachios with an eyebrow raised. "Quite. Never have I heard of a man who could shoot a hammerhead dead in one shot."

"And such a fine ship, Captain Hook. The HMS Jolly Roger, was it?"

"A delightful vessel, such…" Here Anna-Maria flailed, she knew so little about ships that she could not compliment the vessel itself. "... A fine crew." She endeavoured to keep a straight face as she said it. The ships' crew grinned and blushed at this, which shocked her as she had thought the lie too obvious for anyone to believe. Apparently the crew the Captain sent ashore had been the best of a pretty stupid lot.

Charlotte picked up where she left off with a sweet smile. "When we return to England, dearest, we shall be sure to reward the fine Captain and his brave crew most generously."

A smart move. Surely promises of money would tempt the Captain. Why else would men abandon King and Country, after all, if not for riches? "Oh yes, sister, when we return. Alive. And well. In one piece. There shall be a hefty reward indeed." Charlotte shot her a warning Look, which she steadfastly ignored.

There was silence. She could think of nothing else to say. They had played their hand. With glacial slowness, Captain Hook turned away from them to look at his crew.

In his strange, resonating voice, he cried, "Gentlemen, behold! Two fine ladies, the Besswicke sisters, have stumbled aboard our humble vessel. They are to be treated as… honoured guests, for the duration of their stay with us." At this, he turned to them again and, with a flourish, he whipped off his hat and bowed low before them, peering up at them through the curtain of his hair the whole while. His eyes were full of mischief and something darker. Anna-Maria felt her stomach turn. He did not come up from his bow and, without breaking eye contact, screamed "SMEEEEE!". The sisters nearly jumped out of their skins.

One of the pirates, a wrinkled old man with a round belly and a red felt hat, stepped forward. His head was ducked obquesiously. "Aye, Captain?" He spoke with a gentle Irish accent.

"Set course back to England with all speed, Mr Smee. Watch the rest of the dogs while I show the ladies to their quarters."

Bowing his head to the Captain, Smee went to work, his servile manner disappearing as he rounded on the rest of the men, yelling orders and occasionally striking the lesser pirates if they did not move fast enough for his liking. The men erupted into action, even the men who had been holding her upright. Anna-Maria managed to remain on her feet, if only barely. Her headache was back, and it was worse than before. A thudding that matched her heart beat for beat.

With a syrupy smile, Captain Hook turned to the sisters and beckoned Charlotte forth. She went to him, smiling bravely. With an inclination of his head he reached forward with his hook and slashed the bonds that held her wrists together. She made another gushing compliment about his chivalry. Anna-Maria wanted to be sick. She remembered the look in his eyes as he had bowed to them.

"Follow me, ladies. My ship is a humble one. You shall have to settle for less than what you are used to, but I am sure you can manage until we are back in England."

Still smiling that horrible smile, Captain Hook offered Charlotte his unmaimed arm. The sisters looked at one another, one with apprehension and the other with hope. Charlotte linked her arm through his. She was determined to play the game through. Anna-Maria could feel the whole thing start to fall apart on her. His words were one thing, but could Charlotte not see it? He was no ordinary man. When she looked into those cold eyes, she could see a great intelligence at work behind them. He would not be so pliable as Charlotte believed.

The Captain, perhaps sensing her gaze, turned his head to her and extended his ghastly hook. She flinched back at the sight of the thing. He did not react to that in any way she could discern other than to withdraw his arm. With an air of finality, he began to lead her sister down, down below decks. Helpless, Anna-Maria followed. She would not leave Charlotte alone with him.

He called back after her. "Do be careful with the stairs, young Miss Besswicke. Annabelle, was it? I would not like for you to fall."

So down they went. They passed a little armoury, a larger room filled with bunks and a heavy door from which, incredibly, the delicious smell of stew emerged. Anna-Maria breathed it in open-mouthed. How long since she had had a decent meal? The Captain did not say a word, even as Charlotte tried to draw him into conversation about his ship. Anna-Maria felt very faint. She could not feel herself walking. It felt more like she was floating along after them.

He led them down another flight of stairs. The candles ensconced on the wall were trapped behind thick planes of glass. The corridor he eventually lead them down was perversely long. She could have sworn the ship was not so large as this. The queerness of the sight of the Captain and her sister walking ahead of her struck Anna-Maria. He seemed both unreal and larger than life. Next to him, her sister was almost ordinary. Her steps were no longer confident, and she was shying away from the Captain a little.

Reaching out his hook, he began to gouge the wall near him, not breaking stride as he carved a long thin line into the wood with a gut-wrenching  _eeek._ Every step she took increased the pain of her head and the sickness that had taken root in her belly. This man was pure malice. He was toying with them. He would not be swayed by offers of a reward, or lies about believing him their rescuer.

She whispered, "Sister, please-"

They rounded a corner and saw their destination. It did not need to be pointed out to either of them.

It was a little door. Shorter than Anna-Maria and grimy. She did not know how she knew it was for her, but she knew it in her bones, and she saw that Charlotte had perceived it too. Her sister reared back from the thing. Anna-Maria stopped dead in her tracks.

Charlotte spoke in a very small voice. "Captain, I-"

He shushed her like a parent comforting a child. "Now, now, my pet. Forwards, forwards. I do not suffer ingratitude from my guests, even ones so lovely as yourself."

Anna-Maria counted three deadbolts upon the thing. It had a small little slot down the bottom, but nothing else. She felt very strongly that if they went into that room, they would never come out.

Lightning fast, he flung open the locks and swung the door open. A smell wafted out that made Charlotte retch. The Captain wrinkled his nose a little and courteously motioned them into the room.

"In you go, ladies. Your suite awaits." He was sneering now. His eyes fixed upon Charlotte in fascination, waiting to see what she would do next. Would she keep it up, and walk in willingly? Or would she flee? Fight?

The charade broke. Charlotte's mask slipped and she turned and ran. The Captain watched her for a moment with an expression that bordered on tenderness. Charlotte almost collided with Anna-Maria as they fled from him. Hook sighed a happy sigh and, tossing aside the facade of gentility, gave chase. His strides were long and hungry and ate up the distance between him and his quarry. He was upon them in a moment. His hook reached out and circled Charlotte's throat; she had to stop dead in her tracks to avoid being pierced by it. His good hand grabbed Anna-Maria by her dark hair and pulled her along behind him. She howled and almost collapsed from the pain as swathes of her hair came out bloody in his hand.

You may be forgiven, reader, for wondering why the two women did not overcome Captain Hook and rule the seas from that moment on as Captain Charlotte and Bosun Anna-Maria. Wily Anna-Maria could have wrestled one of his pistols from its holster and shot him dead with it, or she could have held the man hostage and made him her cabin boy. That would be a wonderful story. But that is not what happened.

Certainly they did struggle to overcome him with the desperation that only a cornered animal can exhibit, and both of them wondered why they did not manage it. If Anna-Maria could break the grip of a mythical beast such as a Siren, how could their twin efforts fail to overpower one man?

What the girls did not know then was that the magic of The Wendy still clung to Captain Hook and the Jolly Roger, though he had abandoned Neverland many years ago after his final confrontation with Pan. At times of great excitement or despair, he would be wreathed in its flame and strike terror and weakness into the hearts of those that looked upon him, and fortune itself would bend to favour every move he made. This was such a time.

They were swept along with the Captain as leaves before a hurricane, and their brave efforts to defend themselves were for naught. Through her pain Anna-Maria pulled and clawed at his hand to extricate her hair from his grasp, but he was as strong as an ox and could not be moved even an inch. Charlotte tried to escape his hook but wherever she ducked, she would find the point at her soft white throat. He gasped in appreciation at every daring attempt she made even as he threatened her.

They were ewes driven onto the killing floor, all too aware of their fate, and powerless to prevent it.

With a lupine grin he dragged Anna-Maria stumbling behind him and coaxed Charlotte ahead of him by the point of his hook. His pale eyes burned with triumph. He walked the elder sister into the room and tossed the younger one in after her. Anna-Maria hit the floor like a sack of grain. He slammed the door and drew the locks shut.

"The ship has long since needed a feminine touch. Call out should you need anything." The room was black as pitch and filled with that horrible stink. Her pride was gone. She wrenched herself to her feet. She beat upon the door and begged and begged to be let out. Again the maniacally carefree laughter of Captain Hook rang out.

They did not step foot outside the room for three weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eesh, that was full on. I hope you can see why this has to be a slow burn.


	3. And into the Brig

For much of her time in that foul little room, Anna-Maria lay dying.

The room had a bench along the side of one wall, a bucket, and nothing else. It was small enough that she could barely stretch her arms without touching the walls. It was filled beyond anything the sisters could have imagined, a rank smell that crawled up their noses and took root in their bellies. The floors were thick with something too thick to be water. Anna-Maria prayed it was only blood, but suspected it was not. Time was lost to them because the brig had neither windows nor light, save what little crept in from under the door.

For most of the first day, the girls cried piteously and hammered at their door. Anna-Maria fully believed that after a few hours, the vile Captain would come to the door, brandishing his arrogance and his spite, and could perhaps be convinced to let them go.

He did not come.

Anna-Maria had never known imprisonment, nor any real deprivation of comfort for any length of time. She paced as much as one could pace in a place that was scarcely two strides wide and swore as many promises of revenge as she could imagine. But once this restless anger left her, she felt even weaker and more desperate than before. She was torn between dread that the door would open and the pirates would come for them and hope that they would, because at least then she may be able to see the sky.

Every sleep-cycle or so, a crew member would toss in a bowl of muck or a flask of what she could only call alcohol through the slot at the bottom of the door. Their food and drink would have been barely enough to sustain one of them, though most of it went to Charlotte. Anna-Maria was both the appetite and the will to eat, but she was simply too unwell to stomach more than a mouthful.

Anna-Maria's agonies grew worse with every hour, until she could barely stand from the pain of her head. She could hardly believe how much pain she was in from a mere collision with a tree trunk. She had been blessed with good health her whole life and had was just as unused to pain and infirmity as she was to imprisonment.

The one benefit of their time in the brig was that it allowed Charlotte to rest her injured leg, and soon she was able to walk upon it without great pain, though she complained of a slight limp every now and then. Anna-Maria tried and failed to muster up sympathy for her sister, but being convinced that she lay at Death's own door she had a hard time of it.

As Anna-Maria lay upon the bench and tried prevent her head from splitting open, it occurred to her that it was very strange that a pirate captain should request two girls to be brought alive aboard his ship and then simply leave them be. She could see no reason for him to keep them captive if not to take pleasure from their suffering. Although perhaps for him, knowing that he kept two women in the brig like animals waiting slaughter was pleasure enough. Did he intend to keep them here forever? The man, if a man he was, must be mad. And yet he had never seemed to be without reason and wit, save for when he had hauled them into this horrible place. In that fantastical moment, he had seemed more a force of nature than a man.

She raised a hand to her scalp and flinched in pain when she felt the baldness and the huge lumps there. He must have torn out handfuls of her hair when he pulled her to this wretched place. She could still feel his grip upon her.

His strength terrified her still.

On their third day in the brig, although to them it felt like many more days had passed, Anna-Maria's pain had reached such a crescendo that she begged Charlotte not to call out at the door any longer. Sound became excruciating to her. Charlotte had tried to examine her head, but without light it was impossible to see the wound. Besides, her sister's gentle hands touching her head had made her scream loudly enough that the crew must have heard; she could dimly hear laughter coming from above deck.

On the fourth day, she could barely move or speak. Worse, her sleeping hours were plagued by nightmares. In one nightmare, she was drowning underwater and mauled by sharks past the point of death. Though they killed her, she could still feel her remains being eaten by the senseless creatures, a senseless torment. Even though she was underwater in the dream, she was able to scream, and she would wake up screaming and thrashing as she fought off things that were not there. As terrifying and embarrassing as it was, the cause of the nightmare was no great mystery; she had been badly frightened by the sharks in the water and so her mind dwelled on it even as she slept. That was not so unusual.

The other nightmare was worse, though less brutal. It was an insidious, nameless dread. In those dreams she fled from one end of the twisting bowels of the ship to the other, but there was no escape. A monster hounded her through the wood of the hull and no matter where she hid, it always found her. Though she could not hear or see the thing, she could feel it looking at her. The dreams were as real as anything she had ever felt. Whatever it was, it sniffed her out with a dreadful alacrity. The helplessness of it left her weak and shaking when she awoke.

She had at least one of these visions every night. She tried to explain the dreams to Charlotte, but her sister saw them as dreams born of her hunger and suffering. Even having seen a magical being, a Siren of myth with her own two eyes, logic and reason ever ruled Charlotte and tempered her imagination. As for herself, she wanted to believe that her dreams were just the delusions of a dying woman. She could not. She had never been prone to nightmares or delusions before now. She did not believe that she had lost her mind. She was made of stronger stuff than that.

By the time a week had passed, the pain in her head had lessened and Charlotte proclaimed that she surely must survive since she had lived so long. Besides, sister, Charlotte had said dryly, you only hit your head upon a tree. Only you could make such a small thing so serious. She smiled to see her sister had retained her sense of humour even here.

As her strength returned to her, she found she could eat a little of the slop. She was shocked when Charlotte helped her eat the stuff, spooning the mush into her mouth until it was all gone. Her sister must have been very worried about her. Eating helped chase away some of the dizziness. Her head was still sore, but nothing compared to what it had been.

Despite the improvement of her health, her nightmares had followed her into her waking hours.

Not the nightmare of being eaten alive, though she would have preferred it. It was the other one. The one that stalked her from one end of the ship to the next. She could feel the creature through the wood of the brig. As incredible as it seemed, she could not disregard it. It pulsed through the walls at her, and when she moved from one side of the brig to another, she could feel it following her. She observed the thing, not with her eyes, but with some other sense. It defied all logic, all education, but she could not deny that the world had outlandish things in it, even if she did not understand them. Was this how ancient mystics had felt when they communed with the dead? She had only the scraps of knowledge that she had gathered through her senses to guide her.

If it could do so, it would burst through the ship and devour her. She felt strangely certain that the thing might have already tried it, but had not been strong enough to destroy the hull. Whatever it was, it was not the thing that had tempted her and her sister, she knew that much. The siren had wanted to cultivate their dreams and feed off of them. This creature was different. It wanted to devour so much more than her happiness.

As troubled as she was by her nightmares and her ever increasing certainty that they had taken physical form to haunt her, even that could not distract her always. The sheer boredom of their imprisonment sank in as her injuries healed. In a room with nothing to see, with no-one to talk to but each other and nothing to do but starve and thirst, they spent much of their time plotting escape attempts that became more and more absurd as the hours went on.

"If only we had a hair pin, we could pick our locks and escape." Anna-Maria said wistfully once. She had read of such things in novels. Sadly, all their hair pins had all been washed away by the sea. Anna-Mara tried hard not to think about what she must look like, let alone the smell. Despite everything, she still had her vanity.

"Yes, if only we had hairpins." Charlotte had replied sardonically. "And any idea how to pick locks."

They could not think their way out of their predicament. They suspected that there were guards outside their door, and without weapons, the element of surprise or hairpins, they had no idea on how they could rescue themselves. They each thought on, but did not speak of, the diabolical strength of the one-handed Captain and how easily they had been locked in here. Charlotte did not apologise for her idea of trying to dupe the Captain into accepting them as guests, and nor did Anna-Maria ask her to. What was done was done, and truly any other pirate captain would surely have been tempted by offers of reward money. Their captor was not such a man, unfortunately. She could only wonder at her luck; to have found the only pirate Captain on the seven seas who did not care for gold was quite an accomplishment, even by her standards.

As time went on, if indeed it did go on, the sense that she was being watched by unknown predator grew ever stronger. She could feel it moving, the restless pacing on animal that could see its prey but not get at it. Fear had begun to give way to perplexity as she considered the thing. No priests had ever spoken of such supernatural things to her, so she had only her own logic to go on.

The thing hounding her felt real hunger, just as she did. Did demons hunger? How could a being without form know starvation, whether it was a demon or a phantasm? Could it be a mere physical animal, like herself? But if there really was a beast out there in the water, how could it possibly keep up with the ship? How could it target her so keenly? For it was targeting her, she knew that beyond a doubt. It had no interest in Charlotte, from what she could make out. It knew her. It was familiar with her scent, her being. She half expected to hear the thing whispering to her through the wood. She did not mention the creature to her sister again. It would do neither of them any good, as she knew Charlotte would not believe her.

Being a person prone to rash behaviour, Anna-Maria was struck with the idea that perhaps she could communicate with it. She would make no deals with it, she was not so stupid as that, but if it had the ability to reason there might be a chance she could convince it to leave her be. Cautiously, without even understanding how she was doing it, she opened her mind to it. She willed it to speak to her, if speak it could, and explain its presence to her or leave her be.

She got no satisfactory answers and soon regretted opening a dialogue with the thing, as do many foolish young girls who make themselves vulnerable to spirits. Her night-terrors became more and more powerful, and so too did her sensitivity to the beast. She could not speak to it, nor it to her, but she knew it better. It was a simple thing and she could glean only two things from it; the hunger and malice it directed at her. It reminded her of the Captain, in a primal sort of way. A base creature, likely incapable of altruism by nature. But she knew that it knew her. That was beyond a doubt. She heard it whispering to her, vague promises of violence and desire.

Sleep became more exhausting than replenishing, and she avoided it where she could.

One day the door was wrenched open and light spilled in. The girls had lived without light for over a week and it burned their eyes to see it. Anna-Maria threw up her hands over her eyes to shield them but still she could not see a thing in all the white blaze.

"Come on girly, the Captain wants words with ye." She heard a gruff voice say. She heard Charlotte being dragged from the room and waited for the pirates to take her too. They did not. She stumbled forward, feeling blindly for the opening and freedom when the door slammed shut again. She had been left behind. She had been left behind! She pounded on the door till her hands hurt. Once again, Charlotte had needed her and she had failed. She screamed for someone to open the door, but there was no answer.

She waited in her cell as the minutes dragged by, alone with the lust of the beast. Scenarios raced through her mind one after the other. The man who had had them hunted across the island, then locked them in this place as if it were all a joke, had her sister alone. She fought off hysteria as bravely as she could. Charlotte would not want her to rant and wail. She would demand that she do something useful instead of giving into her hysterical nature.

Alone in the brig, Anna-Maria honed her hatred as a soldier sharpens his sword.

By the time the door opened, her mind felt as calm and cool as a frozen lake. She was ready to take vengeance on her sister, who had surely been defiled and likely killed. When the door opened and the light flooded in, she was waiting for it with eyes closed, and sprang forward to leap upon the pirates. At that very moment, Charlotte barreled into her and they both fell backwards onto the slimy floor the of the cell. She lay there stupefied for a moment as the reality hit her. Charlotte was alive. Her hatred was quelled by love and relief. She burst into tears of gratitude.

"Charlotte, oh Charlotte, you are alive! Are you hurt? Did they-?" She could not finish the sentence. She ran her hands blindly over her sisters soft face to reassure herself that she was all in one piece. Charlotte batted her hands away with a tsk.

"Yes yes, I'm fine. For goodness sake Anna, cease your dramatics. You're as bad as that villain." But she gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze as she said it, and Anna-Maria knew her sister was glad to 'see' her too.

"What happened? Tell me everything!"

"There isn't much to tell. It's all very odd. The pirates lead me to Captain Hook's chamber, which is as opulent as a lords, and the Captain fed me breakfast. It was the strangest thing. He acted the perfect gentleman, as though he had not locked us up in here for days. There was an immense feast laid out, too much for three grown men to eat, and he bade me eat with him, so I did."

At the mention of a feast, Anna-Maria's stomach began to grumble loudly. "I don't suppose…"

"I asked him if I could bring any back to you and he said he would not allow it. Something about how dogs should not dine with their masters."

Anna-Maria spluttered with outrage.

Her sister continued, "Anyway, he made comments about how remarkable he thought I was. He served me tea as if I were a princess and he a humble servant. He seems completely taken in by our false identities. Then he told me how sorry he was that the accommodations here did not meet the standards of a woman of my stature, and wished me a good day. Then he had his bosun bring me back here."

Anna-Maria thought for a moment. It defied belief, but Charlotte had never been one to tell stories. It must have happened as she had said. "He is a madman. There can be no other explanation. Unless he is still pretending we believe ourselves his guests." But it seemed so unlikely. What would be the purpose in it? What would he gain from pretending to be fooled, now they were his prisoners?

"He said he would see me again tomorrow. I suppose I shall wait until then. What choice do we have? There's no escaping this place."

Anna-Maria was baffled by the senselessness of it. She could only conclude that the Captain was using them for sport in some way. This entire thing could just be some sort of game to him.

If there was anything Anna-Maria hated more than being locked in a dungeon like a town drunkard, it was being toyed with. That and being left behind while her sister drank tea and feasted like a queen.

When Charlotte was gone, it felt like she was gone for days. She knew that it could not possibly be so long, but the isolation wore on her terribly. She paced and paced in her cell, and beat the walls, with only the spirit in her mind for company. Sometimes she thought that she could sense more than one of the things, but it did not invade her thoughts with its hunger as it once had.

Anna-Maria continued to lose hair as time went by. Thankfully she had enough of it in the first place that she could arrange it in a sort of bun to cover the bald spots, that and the great lumps growing on her head. She showed them to Charlotte, who was so deeply disturbed by them that she said nothing for hours, except to ask her if they hurt. They did not, not very much anyway. Three great lumps, easily the size of her finger. Could they be some sort of boil? As the days went by, she was noticed that they seemed larger and more swollen than they had been. Charlotte instructed her to pray and she did, but she could not hear God in the brig, and she had begun to wonder if he could hear her.

The Captain continued to summon her sister and dine with her. They were at a loss as to what his purpose was, until one day Charlotte returned to the brig in high spirits and exclaimed, "I think I have discovered it, Anna. I think I know the blackguard's plan."

Tearing her gaze away from the wall she knew the creature lurked behind, Anna-Maria bade her sister continue. Not knowing what he had planned for them had been a cruel torture, as cruel as the confinement itself.

"He is trying to get information out of me. About the island we washed up on. He was trying to cover it up with compliments and offers of cigars, but I saw what he was doing. He is not so clever as he thinks, thank God."

Anna-Maria reasoned it out, running a hand through what was left of her hair. "The island? Why would he ask you of it? We were only there for a day or so."

"Surely there can only be one reason for it. I think there is something on the island that he wants, and he thinks we have it, or at least know where it is."

Anna-Maria felt something click in her head. "Treasure? He thinks we uncovered treasure?" It made sense, she knew that pirates often hid treasure on islands so remote that only they knew it's location. The sea was vast and many such islands existed, no doubt. Perhaps they had simply been unlucky enough to get in his way. She cursed the siren again.

"I believe he thinks we saw it and hid it for ourselves, or else he would have tossed us overboard days ago. The Captain is not a man to act on charity, and he expressed no desire in harming us. He wants to know anything that we know. He has already begun to offer such luxuries as he can provide to me, for the remainder of our voyage. You see? He wants something from us. If we can only come up with some lie about seeing treasure on the island, perhaps he might let us go free..."

Charlotte began to talk excitedly about how the Captain was having clothes taken in for her, and how they would be near English waters shortly. When that happened, their nearest port would be Plymouth, and he would take them there, if it suited them.

Her stomach sank to hear the way Charlotte talked. There was an assurance in her voice. Her sister seemed to believe that if they told the Captain what he wanted to hear, he would let them walk freely from his ship. Anna-Maria did not believe it for a second, though she did think Charlotte was right about the treasure.

What Charlotte had said about the Captain expressing no desire to harm them struck her most of all. How could Charlotte believe that to be true?

_He is already harming us, sister. No matter how many cigars he offers you, or how much food he crams into you while I starve, he is harming the both of us. Do you not remember him leading you into this room by the point of his hook, or the smile in his eyes as he did it? Do you not remember how the strength of the Devil himself was upon him when he towed me behind him as if I weighed no more than a child's doll?_

Anna-Maria adored and worshiped her sister as very few siblings do, but it was at this moment that she became sensible of the first of her sister's many flaws; her absolute faith in gentility. Charlotte believed that a man who showed good breeding could never mean any real lasting harm, and that if a man was wicked, it would show on his face and in his manners. The foolishness of it, from a sister she believed to be wise above all others, struck her with almost physical force.

Now, Charlotte could not really be blamed for believing a lie she had been told her whole life by every person of any authority she had ever known. We tell it to our children in stories, we tell it to our friends in our gossip and we unknowingly tell it to ourselves when we meet someone new. It is a sort of promise the people of the world made to one another, that an evil person will have the decency to identify himself with a coarse accent and a mole on his chin so that everyone can avoid him. But the Captain used his natural good looks (though they were lost on Anna-Maria) and fine dress as a cloak of secrecy to conceal and excuse his barbarism and cruelty, and the elder sister was utterly deceived by it.

Neither of them had ever seen this faith betrayed before, but Anna-Maria could see it now. She did not know how the Captain had discovered her sister's weakness, since she herself had not seen it until this moment. All that mattered was that he had found the chink in her sister's armor of common sense, perceptiveness and fortitude, and was exploiting it for all it was worth.

The next day, when the door opened, the summons was for both of them.


	4. Breakfast and a Show

 

 

 

 

Hand in hand the two girls stepped out of the cell, breathing deeply of the sweet clean air. Anna-Maria thought she could get drunk on the stuff. The rotund old bosun- had the Captain called him Smee?- was among the pirates sent to collect the sisters and he seemed genuinely pleased to see them. Now that his Captain was not around, he seemed jolly, almost sweet.

He whipped off his red felt hat when they walked out of their cell, still shading their eyes. "Lady Besswicke, it's good to see you."

The little bosun seemed to think they were aristocrats. She would not disabuse him of that belief, particularly since it might prove useful later. She smiled a little smile for him. She did not find him as repugnant as the rest of the pirates, though she could not decide whether it was because of his manners or if it was because he was slightly less dirty than the rest of the thieves. Or perhaps it was those dear twinkling eyes.

Crowded around Smee were four other pirates, and some of them were sending her admiring looks. She would have thought that the shark congealed on her and the stench would have discouraged them, but apparently not. She wondered how long it had been since they had last seen women if the sight of her impressed them so much.

"Why does the Captain seek an audience with us?" She said in her best noblewoman's voice. She had met with very few noblewomen, so she doubted it would hold water with any educated person, but surely it would convince these men.

"It is mid-morning, Lady Besswicke." Smee answered cheerfully, "The Captain has invited you both to breakfast."

_Breakfast. Food. Food that doesn't taste like it's already been eaten._

Her belly took firm control of her reasoning. "Lead the way, Bosun." She said breathily.

When her eyes had recovered enough, the pirates began to lead them to the Captain's chambers. She was quite weak and bade them walk slowly, which they did. She suspected that it was only ravenous hunger that kept her going after the first few steps. She noticed that as they went up the stairs her connection to the Beasts wavered and dimmed slightly. It was a great relief after the sinister otherworldly encroachment of the last few days.

The pirates threw introductions over their shoulders as they made their way through the ship. She made an effort to memorise their names and faces as best she could, since she had been half-delirious the first time she had seen the crew.

First was Long Eyed Pete, a crafty looking pirate who proudly proclaimed himself the third best shot on the ship. Then Saltson, an african man who had apparently had never stepped foot on land. He was the one who had not looked at her like she was a Goddess. Then there was Batty Bartholomew, so called because he was more than half-blind. In her opinion the impairment surely made him spectacularly unsuited to his role as ship's Surgeon, but the other men did not seem concerned by it. Lastly, there was Half-Dead Jack, a man who looked so normal that she wondered at the origins of his fantastical name. They all called her 'm'lady' as many times as they could. It would have been rather flattering if she did not distinctly recall the circumstances that brought her in their company. Seeing the relaxed look on Charlotte's face, she thought that these pirates may have been charged with taking her to the Captain before.

She did not know whether such an... illustrious… escort was intended as a calculated insult on the Captain's part. It might have been. But Anna-Maria was in no mood for his games, or for Charlotte's intrigues, if she was completely honest with herself, and that wasn't just starvation talking. She was beginning to think that her sister's constant need to make everything more complicated than it had to be was at least partially responsible for their confinement in the brig in the first place. She would explain to the Captain that they know nothing of his treasure, and demand that he either release them or kill them. She would not spend the rest of her days being tortured in the brig. Drinking in (comparatively) fresh air and being able to see again had returned some of the steel to her backbone. If these men wanted to take her back to that room, they would have to take her corpse.

One way or another, this ended today.

Above her she saw a final set of stairs leading up into the sweetness of the morning sun. How long had it been since she had last seen it? It felt like an age. Charlotte was not amazed by the sight and simply followed the pirates up, but Anna-Maria stood stock still. She could not understand herself. She had longed for sunlight every day in the brig, and now she could see it, she could hardly move.

"Annabelle? Hurry up, the Captain is waiting!" Her sister's cry snapped her out of it and she hurried up the stairs after her and the pirates. She climbed up the last step and stood up on deck, feeling the kiss of the sun upon her cheek with something close to ecstacy. The wind whipped through her hair. That too was a novelty. Her eyes closed with bliss as she swayed with the wind. It was a wonder, but she had no time to appreciate it. The crew of the Jolly Roger had stopped whatever they were doing to watch her and her sister. They looked more curious than anything, but she had no doubt that if she strayed a step they would seize her in moments and drag her to her appointment with the Captain if need be.

Already Long Eyed Pete was impatiently beckoning her up a steep set of steps to the helm. Charlotte and the rest of their pirate escort were already there. She went up to meet them, what else could she do? Past the helm was the door to the Captain's quarters. She knew it was his because there was a plaque of gold and onyx with the words 'Captn Jas Hook' engraved fancifully upon it. Truly the Captain's affectations of refinement were boundless.

Her newfound backbone sagged a little as she and Charlotte stood before the door and looked up at the plaque. The thought of being in the same room as the man made her feel ill all over again.

Seeing her look of apprehension, Smee gave her shaking hand a little pat. "Don't fret, my lady. The Captain has been in high spirits since you came aboard. He has not shot at us in days."

This was not the encouragement he likely thought it was.

"Aye." Said Saltson in his rich, musical voice. "The men are saying that it may be good luck to have women aboard the ship after all."

Anna-Maria found that very amusing, given her history, and might have laughed if the circumstances had been different. She and Charlotte looked at one another. Waiting would not make this any easier. They found courage in each other, and both rapped upon the door at once.

"ENTER!" The booming voice of the Captain called out.

Still holding hands, the sisters opened the door and stepped inside.

 

* * *

 

The door shut behind them.

She squeezed Charlotte's hand, more to encourage herself than anything else. She had been warned of it, but she was taken aback by the sheer size and lavishness of the room for a moment.

It was not that she was unaccustomed to statues of cherubs, plush carpets and fine paintings, more that it seemed so out of place with the rest of the ship, which seemed so unadorned by comparison. The furniture was all gilded, velvet-cushioned dark wood. She knew next to nothing about pirate captains, but wealth she understood, and this room spoke to her of elegance and fine taste. Gilt adorned all the furniture and the windows were stained glass. Off to one side was even a  _harpsichord_ , which shocked her most of all. It was an absurdly expensive ornament for a one handed man, who surely could not play it. She spared the instrument a long look of longing. Such a waste!

But the harpsichord did not hold her attention forever. In the center of the room was a long table groaning under the weight of an expansive feast. Roast  _swan_ if she was not mistaken, carved beef, roast squash and potatoes and even a cornucopia filled with fruits. They were bottles and decanters and crystal glasses everywhere. At the end nearest to the door, two chairs sat side by side, which she could only think were for her and Charlotte. Sitting at the other end of the table was the Captain.

The cadaver of a man was wearing a magnificent coat of burgundy and one of his immense hats. The small things that had betrayed him before, like those ridiculous earrings and the off-colour lace shirt, were gone now. His fingers were dripping with rubies and- were those diamonds? He could have made himself at home at any court in England. His expression was every bit as cunning as she had remembered, and filled with mirth besides. His hook was different, though; it had been exchanged for one made of solid gold.

She had expected to be terrified at the sight of him. She knew she ought to have been. He had laid hands upon her and threatened to cut her sisters throat. He had toyed with them and locked them in a dungeon and treated them like animals. If she had allowed herself to be swept up by fury, that would have been as expected, too. Our Anna-Maria is a creature of emotion and passion, as you will know by now. But she was strikingly devoid of all passion at that moment. All she felt was an immense tiredness, deep in her bones. She was exhausted at the sight of the Captain's fine costume, drained by the wealth he so proudly displayed all around him and achingly weary at the idea of continuing this farce a moment longer. For all her faults, Anna-Maria was a genuine sort of person and had neither aptitude nor interest in subterfuge and deceit.

The bosun had followed them in, and she was glad of it. She found his company rather reassuring.

"Ah, the ladies Besswicke, do come in. No need to be shy. Sit down, you must be famished." he said, the spirit of politeness and affability despite being the agent of their deprivation. He made a show of waving them each into a seat. He had not risen for them when they entered. His small, pointed jabs were not lost on either of the sisters. It did not enrage her as it once might have. Presently, she had eyes for only one thing; the feast on the table.

Her belly gave a loud gurgle and her mouth watered indecently. If she did not get her hands upon food in the next minute, she was sure that she would drop dead. Anna-Maria approached the table and was about to sit down when Smee put down a silver dish in front of her sister's place, and then her own.

She did not see the malicious glint in the Captain's eye. As one, the two sisters pulled off the lid of their plates excitedly. Charlotte's plate was filled to the brim with fine cuts of meats and mounds of vegetables and gravy. On her plate was a thin slice of mouldy bread and cheese that had turned the colour of grass. Anna-Maria looked up at the Captain. His face was a picture of innocence, but his eyes were downright twinkling with spite and hilarity as he waited for her reaction.

In a voice like ice, Charlotte said. "Now Captain Hook, that is unbecoming of a gentleman."

He said something to her in return in a cheery voice, but Anna-Maria found she could not focus on the words he was saying. She was too busy staring at the plate in front of her, nose wrinkled at the rancid smell.

_Dogs should not eat with their masters._  Those were his words, as Charlotte had related them to her.

It was petty. Childish, even. Probably an afterthought on his part. It was nothing compared to the unknown days of indignity in the cell he had put her in for the crime of being helpless. Or the nightmares that now stalked her even by day, or the shameless use of both her and her sister as bait for shooting sharks. And yet, just like that, she had had enough. She had found her breaking point, right there in a piece of spoiled camembert. She forgot her sister standing beside her, she forgot about the one-handed Captain of the Jolly Roger, the siren, the days on an oarless longboat in a foreign ocean under the blazing sun, everything.

She did not say a word. She simply stalked over to where the plate of swan lay, gathered it up in her arms and carried it to her place at the table. She released the plate to crash down on top of the cheese and bread with an expressionless face.

She heard the Captain cry out, "What the Devil do you think you're-?" but she paid him no mind. Her hunger was the world. The swan would not be enough; she seized the silver plate of beef and dragged it down the table. She put her back into it and knocked over ornaments and decanters as she did so. Charlotte was making noises of protest. She did not care one jot. She was reaching for the roast potatoes when she heard the Captain leap out of his chair.

Through the mist of her hunger, she could hear him hissing at her, "You little locust, you will set down those potatoes  _this instant_  and eat the cheese and bread that I have so  _generously-_ " The sound of her mauling the swan with her teeth drowned out the rest of his speech and spoiled the effect. The meat was superb, rich and she could not remember anything tasting so good. She looked up at him. His blue eyes blazed with deadly outrage, his mouth was twisted in a snarl of hate. Not breaking eye contact, she put down her wing of swan with a smile. Triumph filled his gaze again, which promptly died when she reached for the plate of beef she had left right in front of her.

His hand fell to the pistol at his waist. So he was armed, then. She was unmoved. "Girl, if you lay even one filthy finger on that beef, I swear I'll-"

She did not hear Charlotte pleading with the Captain, babbling about 'Annabelle's little moods' 'dramatic spirit' and 'taking after an aunt who was best not spoken of. ' Neither of them were listening to her, though if she had heard her sister pleading so eloquently, Anna-Maria may have loved her even more than she already did. But Anna-Maria and the Captain were locked in a strange battle of wills and the two combatants had eyes only for each other. He consumed with fury that a being so beneath his notice, one as inferior to him as his crew, would dare to commandeer his own beef, and she with all the cool aplomb of one who knew the consequences of her actions and accepted them.

She hated to give him the dignity of a response, but as she speared a slice of succulent beef with her shark-soiled finger, she felt she ought to. "Best shoot me here and now, Captain Hook," she sneered his name with all the contempt she felt for him, "for only death will separate this dog from your breakfast."

He gave her a look that bordered on awe as she slowly raised the impaled beef to her mouth and ate it in one bite. It was heavenly. The juices ran down her chin. There was complete silence as she chewed and swallowed it. She smiled shamelessly at him. She was going to be killed now, but she regretted nothing.

"Oh for goodness sakes, now you've done it." She heard Charlotte mutter.

The Captain removed his hand from his pistol. Did that mean he wasn't going to kill her? She didn't mind either way; the beef was exceptional and she tore herself another piece with all the remorse that God gave a tiger. The Captain's expression was as blank as her own. Still looking at her, he called out to his bosun as if he were not standing right besides him. Smee straightened immediately. "Smee, do take this girl up on deck and keelhaul her, will you? I will not waste a shot on her."

Anna-Maria went still. She did not know what keelhauling was, but she had her suspicions that it would not be a pleasant death. Well, she had made her choice. She would not go back now and eat that mouldy bread for all the tea in China. She spared a look for Charlotte and was shocked to find her on her knees and silently beseeching the Captain with tear-filled eyes. Could it be that her sister cared for her, even after all that had happened?

The Captain simply shook his head at her. "No, beauty, I don't care that she's related to you, she could be related to Captain Morgan himself and I would still have her killed. She had her chance." He waved his hand dismissively in her direction as if he had forgotten her already. "Get the grubby little creature out of my sight, Smee. Let her sit in the brig until noon. And tell Cook to bring in the second course, the first is all ruined."

Looking regretful, Smee reached for her. She drew back from him. Gone was her calm, and in its place there was rage. Death was one thing, the brig was another. She had sworn to herself that she would not go back there, and she had meant it. "Do not lay a hand on me, bosun. I shall not go back to that cell."

Smee gave her a pleading look and whispered. "Do not fight him, Lady Besswicke. Go quietly." Again he reached out for her with his chubby, pink hands. She pushed him squarely in the chest. Much to her surprise, he fell backwards and landed heavily with an  _oof_.

Anna-Maria, Charlotte, and Captain Hook all looked at the fat old bosun sprawled on the floor. If she had turned, she would have seen suspicion beginning to dawn in Hook's eyes. But instead all she could do was look down at Smee with a feeling close to guilt. She hoped he was not terribly hurt, though since he had been going to take her back to the brig, he deserved it if he was.

Wondering at the noise, two other pirates raced in. She recognised Long Eyed Pete, but the other was unknown to her. Neither of them were fat old men. They were both tall and powerful looking men. She knew that Long Eyed Pete was a veteran pirate, highly regarded by his fellows, and the other one had a countenance that would frighten even the bravest of men. She chanced a look behind her and saw the Captain taking a long draught straight out of a bottle of wine. Was he going to get  _drunk_ while watching her fight for her life?

She tried to sound brave as she said, "Sister, stay where you are." She would not have Charlotte dragged into this, though she seemed too distraught to stand anyway.

"Take her." The Captain said, his voice a death knell.

She looked for anything in the room she might use as a weapon, and a moment later a carving knife was in her hand. She had no idea how to use it, but it did not matter. Anything was better than nothing. She pointed it threateningly at the pirates and glared at them, her fierce black eyes raging. "Stay back. I'll die before I go-"

But the unknown pirate was already upon her. He grabbed at her arm and twisted it viciously. She cried out and dropped the knife. With a hard pull she was against him and he snared a hand in her hair. She looked up in horror at his smile and he prepared to throw her over his shoulder.

And then he screamed and screamed and screamed.

The air was filled with a smell like roast pork. There was a sizzling sound that made her skin crawl. She could not look away as the man released her and fell to the floor, still screaming as the skin  _sloughed away from his hand._  In a moment, his bones were laid bare. She heard Charlotte retching. All she could do was stare as the man looked at his ruin of a hand and wail in agony. She felt her scalp crawling with something like pins and needles.

Long Eyed Pete was looking at her with dread and screeching like a banshee of myth. He shook once, from head to toe, then ran out of the room as fast as his legs could carry him, still making that terrible noise. Smee, still on the floor, crossed himself and looked up at her as if he wanted to be sick.

And then a gunshot split the air. The pirate fell back, blissfully dead.

In shock, they all turned to stare at the Captain. In response, he simply shrugged and set his pistol down on the table. "The Jolly Roger has no more room for one-handed men." His shoulders were slumped and his head was bowed. Smee overcame his horror and pulled himself to his feet and stammered for orders, but his master said nothing.

Anna-Maria touched her head with a shaking hand. The lumps were  _moving._  She moaned with horror as one of them thrashed and curled around her hand. She yanked it back and looked at the hand, now smeared with a black liquid. She sank to her knees. She could not stand. If Long Eyed Pete came for her, if even Smee came for her, she would be as helpless as a newborn babe. Shock and exhaustion hit all at once. She would be powerless to defend herself.

Long Eyed Pete, however, had long since ran screaming from the room and Smee was in no state to abuse her. Charlotte had averted her eyes and was praying under her breath. The Captain took his hat off and threw it down on the table. What did they see when they looked at her?

"What is it? God in heaven, what is it?" Her voice was weak, her lips would barely move. But still she had to know. She turned to the Captain. "What is on my head?"

The villain did not show any signs of hearing her at first. He was muttering to himself in vexation, "Damnation, I could have sworn it was the blonde one. Why couldn't it have been the blonde one?"

Charlotte managed to stand and say in a trembling voice, "If you know what manner of curse has befallen my sister, Captain, please tell us."

He sighed. He looked almost human in that moment. "Curse? She is not cursed, simply stupid. Whoever would wish for tentacles? I have not seen such absurdity since-" He snarled and ran his ghastly hook through his hair.

_Tentacles? Like a squid?!_  It had to be a lie. And what was this talk of wishes?

"A mirror. Get me to a mirror." She groaned, fighting unconsciousness with every bit of her will.

No-one was listening to her. The pirate Captain looked disturbed. "You drank from it, didn't you? The well on the island. I do not know how, since you have been ill, and those that drink never become ill…"

Charlotte let a little bit of sharpness leak into her voice. "A well? There was no well, it was a desert island. Captain, please explain yourself plainly. What exactly has happened to my sister?"

The Captain snapped to life again, his focus returning. "I'm afraid I won't be saying anything more to you, my beauty. It is a shame, I found you… diverting. But no, it must be  _her_. Blast!"

She was falling asleep, she could not help it. She felt as though she were melting into a little puddle on the floor.

"Smee, fetch the men. Lady Annabelle will be sleeping in the dressing room tonight. Return Georgiana to the brig. It seems I was mistaken about her."

The last thing she saw as she closed her eyes was Charlotte being taken from the room by two pirates, still demanding an explanation, still imploring him not to send her away. That and the body of the dead man, who had died because he had touched her hair.

And on the floorboards, a little pool of black, black ink.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never let it be said that Anna-Maria does not have a flair for the dramatic. XD But then again, don't you think that suits Hook perfectly? 
> 
> Sorry that this chapter focuses so much on his dramatic petty side, but I figured that since last chapter showed his malice and his cunning, we would explore the other side of him. He's sort of equal parts legit scary villain and a bordering on cartoonish villain, and this is true in both the book and the Isaacs' movie, so I take it pretty seriously. And remember, if it seems ridiculous that Hook would threaten to kill a girl for eating his food, just remember that he brought a gramophone to that fight with a twelve year old at the Black Castle. And he tried to drown the teddy too. XD XD All hail the King of petty drama, Captain James Hook. Also…. I really am sorry about the tentacles, guys, but the dream was quite insistent on that detail.


	5. A Window of Opportunity

When she awoke it was to ravenous hunger, but that had become the norm in the brig. Instinctively, she took stock of her situation by reaching around with her mind, as she did every time she awoke now. The creature hunting her felt far away. She could only barely feel it searching for her. She had not woken screaming either. She had been given two blessings already, and she had not even opened her eyes.

Sadly, she remembered exactly what had happened the day before. It did not come to her in a flash, or creep upon her slowly. No, the memory had never left her; it had been with her even in her dreams.

With a cautious hand, she reached up and probed her scalp. There they were. The things on her head that had killed the pirate who had tried to take her to the brig. The three mounds were thicker than when she had showed them to Charlotte days ago; perhaps as thick as two fingers now. Her stomach churned as they began to move at her touch. Through them, she could feel her fingers. They were remarkably sensitive, they could feel the warmth and shape of her fingertips acutely. It was as if she had another hand upon her head, and a very clever hand it was. She had never been so aware of the texture of her own skin, so soft and strong all at once. She was captivated by the sensation for a moment. Curiosity warred with disgust. The… tentacles… had little suckers underneath them, which she supposed was normal. They were cool to the touch, and a little slimy. Then her disgust won the day, and she shuddered. She forced her mind to other things. She knew she could not ignore what she was becoming, but she feared that if she thought on it any more she would go mad.

She remembered the event of the meal with the Captain with incredulity and a little embarrassment. All this because the Captain had given her moldy scraps to eat, and she had been too proud and hungry to ignore his baiting of her. She had nearly been keelhauled (whatever that was). And because of her pride, she had killed (again) and Charlotte was a prisoner. While she was… where had he put her, exactly?

She opened her eyes tentatively and gasped in joy and surprise. She could see, she could see! She sat up, excited despite herself. Her situation was bad, but to wake up in a room with light was too great a pleasure to ignore.

She had been laid down on a trunk that had been so covered in blankets coats and sailcloth that it had been really quite comfortable to sleep on. It was the closest she had had to a bed in what felt like forever.

And as for the room- the Captain had called it a dressing room, hadn't he? That would explain the rods stretching along the walls. The pirate had put her in a  _closet._ There was even an off-coloured patch on the walls that looked like it had once housed a mirror.

The room was big enough for her to breathe comfortably, though the air was musty and it was filled with trunks and chests in piles and stacks that took up nearly all the available space. The door was thick and sturdy, though nothing so terrifying as the door to the brig had been.

The room was painted in delicate hues of light, shining in from a little window barely larger than her two hands. Her breath caught with need. She had not had been given a chance to look beyond the ship when she had been taken to meet the Captain. She haphazardly piled two trunks on top of each other and stood up on them to peek out the window. The sea spread before her eyes, as far as she could see. She could even hear the waves. The sky was the pink of morning and the sea blazed with the light of the new sun. She had never seen anything so beautiful.

There was a tentative knock at the door, and she realised that she must have made too much noise in her excitement to look out at the ocean. It could not be undone.

A moment later, Mr Smee came in, bearing a tray laden with silver plates. A wonderful smell wafted from them. Smee looked very, very worried. His eyes twitched and jittered about the room as he came in. Behind him, she could see no less than three pirates aiming pistols and rifles at her, among them were Long Eyed Pete and Half-Dead Jack, the other was a hulking brute of a man she had never seen before. "Lady Besswicke, m'lady, you've been asleep for days. Here, I've brought you breakfast."

"Oh, I see." The pirates all looked terrified of her. Shouldn't she be the frightened one? Then she thought that if she had seen a woman melt off a mans hand with her head-tentacles, she might have been rather afraid as well, so she forgave them for it. She wondered if the crew had gone back to thinking that women aboard a ship brought bad luck. "Thank you, Smee. Set it down on the trunk over there, please."

He did so, and looked at her for a moment. "Are you not angry with me?"

She knew what he was thinking of. "Why would I be angry, Smee? You are the ship's bosun. You were only doing what you had to. Though I know you did not want to." And that was strange, her cunning little mind thought. Why would a pirate feel remorse for doing cruel things? As all decent Britons did, she had always believed pirates to be without mercy or conscience. They were lowly thieves who made life hard for everyone else. Thanks to them, the sea was still perilous for merchants and travellers alike. That was what she had been taught, it was all she knew. And yet, hadn't Smee looked somewhat guilty as he had tried to take her to the brig to await her death? Didn't he look the same way now, beneath his fear of her?

She did not have her sisters natural gift for seeing opportunity, but she knew one when it jumped up and down in front of her. For the moment, she simply smiled at him. She tried to smile at the rest, but they either glared at her or, in the case of Long Eyed Pete, flinched. Oh well.

Smee stood awkwardly for a moment as she sat still. "The Captain says you must eat, m'lady."

"He has changed his tune, hasn't he." She said flatly. She raised the lid off the first silver plate to reveal chicken soup. Her stomach began to make itself known. She felt a rare stirring of consideration within her, and pounced on it. "And what of my sister, in the brig? What is she eating?"

Smee became more awkward, if possible. He began to wring his hat in his hands. "The same as before. She is lucky to be eating anything at all, having not paid her passage."

The thought of Charlotte eating that swill bothered her. Charlotte had at least made an effort to bring food back to her, even if she had been refused. She switched course for a moment while she thought on it. "Why can she not be brought here?" She said challengingly, "If there was room for the two of us in the brig, there is room for the two of us here."

"The Captain says she must stay where she is. He told me…" He broke off. She raised her eyebrow at him questioningly. "He told me to tell you, when you asked, that he'd be keeping the two vipers separate from now on. Otherwise you'd cause too much trouble."

Vipers. Really? Was that some sort of reference to Medusa, the woman cursed by ancient gods to wear snakes upon her head? Had the man not learned from his last insults towards her? She would have to repay him for that. He could give her as many meals as he liked. His true nature would always come out in some little bit of cruelty. There would come a time when he would regret not placing himself at the disposal of her and her sister.

The smell of food brought her back to the moment. With a genuine sigh of regret and longing, she put the lid back on the soup and handed the tray to Smee. "Please tell your Captain that I won't have any food until my sister is treated with a little more courtesy. Even if she can't join me here, she must surely be fed something better than that awful slop."

The pirates all looked even more frightened, if that were possible. Smee opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water, which she rather supposed he was.

Half-Dead Jack met her eyes. He looked desperate. "Please, m'lady. Eat. The Cap'n has been in a foul mood, worse than we've ever seen. He fired Three-Legged Bill and Manglin' John out of Long Tom yesterday for blinking too much. Said it was disrespectful."

It was somewhat lost on Anna-Maria, who had no idea who this Long Tom was and how a man could be fired from him, but she understood that two pirates had been killed for no good reason. She was beginning to wonder just how many pirates this ship carried that the Captain could afford to squander so many lives in a fit of ill temper. "I do not mean to cause trouble, Jack, but I cannot let my sister starve while I eat chicken soup. Tell him… Tell Captain Hook I offer a compromise. I will accept that my sister must stay in the brig, if he feeds her good meals. Three times a day. And gives her water to drink, instead of alcohol."

The men grimaced and tried to argue, but she claimed a headache until they all left her. They did not look happy. As he was shutting the door, the third pirate told her that she would have an armed guard of at least three men outside her door at all time, by order of the Captain.

She understood the threat for what it was. As they closed the door and she heard a lock turning, she understood very well.

She had the sun and the sea, and even a little makeshift bed. But she was still very much a prisoner.

 

* * *

 

She must have stood looking out the window for a good quarter-hour before she realised that she was still all but naked and currently confined in a dressing room. What did dressing rooms contain if not clothes? She leapt down from the trunks and threw one of them open.

She was not disappointed. The trunk was filled with clothes of all shapes and sizes. Trousers and pantaloons, long shirts and even a set of military uniform. Nothing that would fit her of course, but it was a start. For the rest of the morning she tossed open the trunks and chests and rummaged through them. She even found a few corsets, though the styles were old and none would fit her generous figure. She tried not to think about why there were corsets aboard a pirate ship. Eventually she decided on a pair of trousers, a shirt and a worn jacket that she thought might do. Even if they were men's clothes, to wear any sort of clothes at all would bring her some comfort. She was about to try them on when she realised that putting those clothes on her muck-stained body would only ruin them. But she could not remain in her undergarments forever.

For a while she was torn, before an idea struck her. Mind made up, she went to the door. Should she push it open? What if that frightened the men and they shot at her? She decided to knock instead.

After a few long minutes passed, it opened. Long Eyed Pete, Half-Dead Jack and the unnamed pirate from before were standing outside her door, guns raised again. They were clearly taking no chances with her. She had almost dared to hope that the threat of an armed guard outside her room had been just that, a threat. She put on her best face, the one she used to wear when she asked Father for a new gown.

"Gentlemen, might I trouble you for a bucket of water and a scrubbing brush?" They looked at her like she had grown another head. She lowered her standards a little, knowing that fresh water would be precious indeed on a ship. "Salt-water will do if drinking water is too scarce. I want to freshen up."

The men looked at each other dubiously. "Wait here, Lady." Said the one whose name did not know.

"Might I know your name, sir pirate?"

He hesitated, thinking it over. "George." he grated out between his teeth. He was clearly not happy to be fraternising with her and slammed the door shut.

Simply George. It did not suit his intimidating appearance. Meekly, she retreated back into the room and heard the lock turn in the door. She returned to the window. She did not think she would ever get tired of the view.

Soon after, the door swung open again and George came in. "The Captain says you are to use his tub, m'lady."

She gaped in shock. Was he joking? Who would have thought a pirate would have a bathtub? "His tub? A bucket would have done."

The huge pirate shrugged. He clearly wasn't the sort to question his Captain's decisions.

She struggled with the idea. "I cannot bathe in his chambers with him present. I can scarcely see how I could bathe in them at all. It would be… improper." Not to mention that the man was a devil and her jailer and she never wanted to lay eyes upon him again.

Long Eyed Pete spoke for the first time that day, his wide eyes fixed on her hair. "The Captain will be on deck until nightfall at least. There's troublesome water ahead." She blinked at him. How could water be troublesome? "His eyes are needed in the Crow's nest, m'lady." He explained.

She thought on it for a while. But no matter which way she looked at it, if the Captain wished her harmed and humiliated, he could see it done. He would not need her in his chambers if he wished to punish her for last night's… performance. And he had brought her out of the brig and offered her decent food. There was a chance, however slim, that he intended to treat her with some modicum of decency from now on. Unless this was another one of his games, which it may very well be. But there was only one way to find out.

If it came to it, she could always grab him with one of her tentacles and melt him the way she had melted that poor crewman.

God, that it had come to this.

She took up her new clothes and nodded. "Lead the way, gentlemen."

 

* * *

 

The pirates led her to the Captain's chambers and followed her in. She nervously peered about the lavish room, but she could not see its denizen. Now that she was not near-delirious with starvation, she could take it all in much better. She wondered how much of the ornaments and furnishing had been stolen from law-abiding people. Most of it, she supposed.

The pirates watched her like hawks and instructed her sternly not to touch anything. They motioned her to a side door, which when opened revealed a chamber containing nothing but a clawfoot bathtub as ostentatious as its owner. It was big enough for four of her and filled with steaming water, with a soap-dish on the side. The Captain was truly full of surprises. She looked at the tub longingly and almost jumped in then and there.

Then she remembered that she had company. She looked behind her to see the pirates still staring at her. "Are you planning to watch me?" She asked tartly. They turned on their heels and left, Half-Dead Jack blushing bright red. George informed her curtly that they would be waiting outside the door, and she had better not do anything foolish. She nodded even though she could not see what threat she could be to them in a bathtub.

Peeling off her filthy undergarments, she slid in with a moan. The water was very hot but that was probably for the best. She could feel the blood, salt and grime falling off her. She gave a little cry of happiness when she saw  _her own skin again_  underneath all that muck.

For all her life she had had servants to help her bathe, but she cherished the privacy now. She scrubbed every inch of herself with a bar of floral-smelling soap and tried as best she could to manage her hair. It was so dreadfully knotted and matted that it took a long time to untangle any of it. Much to her revulsion, she found more than one piece of shark still in it, and dropped them on the floor with a shudder. Much of the hair on the crown of her head was gone, and more came out in her hands as she inspected it. Her tentacles were thrashing about on her head. Were they excited by the water? She did not want to know. She was trying not to dwell on the things. Whenever she thought about them she became very emotional, and she knew from experience that being emotional made her rash and stupid. She must be calm and clever if she was going to get them off of this ship.

And she would get them out of this, that was for certain. She only needed a plan. It would have to be something pretty ingenious, given the severity of the situation, and she had never really had the foresight required for scheming. She chose not to dwell on the fact that the last time she had escalated the situation and provoked the Captain (even though he had undeniably deserved it), it had gone very badly for her poor sister, and she had nearly gotten herself keelhauled.

But there had to be something she could use. She thought of the Captain, his sheer force of arms and will, and could not see a way she could defeat him. She had her ink, yes, but he could shoot her from twenty feet away and that would be the end of it. Besides, he would not be so stupid to reach his hand into her hair, not after what had happened to his crewman. The Captain was vain, cruel and a murderer, but he was not stupid.

But all things had weaknesses, didn't they? There had to be some way, some ruse, something…

She was so lost in her thoughts of violence, treachery and escape that she did not notice that she was becoming drowsy. The warmth of the water was too relaxing too resist. Head lolling, she slid under the water, submerging herself.

It was some time before she realised that she felt no desire to breathe.

Without thinking, she took in a breath of water. She did not choke. It was like breathing air, only a little harder on her throat. Was she becoming a creature of the sea? Would she grow great rows of teeth like a shark and a fin on her back? She sat up. That settled it. Her resolve to be brave broke and she cried for a while. She did not care if the pirates heard her. Her sister was still held captive and she was becoming a sea-demon. Not only that, but she would lose all her hair.

This was a new low, even for her.

Eventually she was able to wrestle back control of herself. She had the offer of food and now she could be clean and dressed. Things were bad but not as awful as they had been. She clung onto that with all the strength she had.

Sulking would get her nowhere. Courage and intelligence were what was needed now. In her daze of exhaustion, she had not been able to concentrate on much the Captain had said, but she did remember something about the well of the island. If the water had been corrupted, perhaps there was some manner of alchemy, some science that could undo what had been done to her. They were in an age of reason, after all.

That possibility that she could be cured of the condition she found herself in had not occurred to her until then, and it gave her the jolt she needed to step out of the tub and dry herself. She wrapped her hair in a towel to help it dry as well as to hide her deformity. She dressed in the men's clothes quickly, wondering at the strange, tight feel of the trousers around her legs. How did men move in these? And the shirt did nothing to hold her figure in check. She probably looked ridiculous, but she didn't really care. She shrugged into the jacket, beaming to be wearing something that covered her.

She opened the door to see the pirates all gaping at her. Did she look so odd dressed as a man? Or was it the towel upon her head?

George coughed. "Time to go back to your room, m'lady. It's almost sunset."

She went willingly, there was no use in arguing.

Her bath had helped her to see things in a new light. The Captain may have no weaknesses, but the Jolly Roger did. She forced down a smile as hope took root. This could work.

One step at a time. For now, the best thing she could do was appear as placid and harmless as possible. Though she suspected that Long Eyed Pete would never forget the sight of her injuring his crewmate, and George had all the heart of a boulder, she thought they were the exception on the ship, rather than the room.

It was amazing the difference a bath and a new set of clothes could make. As soon as she was alone in her room, she closed her eyes and reached out. Immediately, her mind brushed up against the creature that had been following the ship, no, following her. She felt something different about its mind. Was it a different beast? It seemed more curious about her than hungry. She could have sworn she felt it reaching out for her too. It was impossible to be certain.

She was broken out of her probing when the door opened and Smee came in bearing a tray of food again. She sighed. The day had been going so well. She did not want to quarrel with the little man. "Mr Smee, I have already told you that I will not eat until my sister does. It is the least I can do for her in her captivity."

Mr Smee set the tray beside her and waved at it encouragingly. "The Captain sent food to your sister over an hour ago, Lady. Good food, like you said, and water. She was most grateful."

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. Despite everything, she believed that the Bosun was a trustworthy sort, but his Captain was not. "How do I know you are telling the truth? The Captain likes to play games."

The Bosun frowned at her. "Captain Hook says you have his word as an Etonion. But he also said that if you do not eat every bite of it, your sister won't eat tomorrow. He gives his word on that, too."

"That sounds very formal, Mr Smee, only I do not know what an Etonion is, let alone if he is one."

Smee grimaced. "Best not to tell him that, Lady. He is very proud of it. Take my word on it, your sister will get three meals a day as long as you keep your end of the bargain."

She lifted up a lid to reveal braised fish. She smiled and picking up a fork, began to eat. "Then you may tell him that I am a woman of my word, Smee." Again, the food was delicious. "I admit, I'm curious to how a ship of scoundrels was able to find a cook to rival my own back home."

Saltson spoke up behind Smee. "Cook will be glad to hear it, lady. He takes his work very seriously, and the Captain has told him you are to eat as well as he does." Had he, indeed? She wondered at that. She must find out the reason for his sudden interest in currying her favour. And she wanted to know more about the well on the island, if he could be persuaded to tell her.

Smee took her tray when she was done. She noticed how carefully he counted all the cutlery. The Captain trusted her about as much as she trusted him. And with good reason.

_Just be patient, Charlotte. A little longer, and I shall free us both._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imo this chapter was a very necessary break from all the emotional turmoil of the last few chapters, and we did learn a little more about Anna-Maria's state, as well as her new situation on the ship. I hope it wasn't too boring.


	6. The M Word

For the next several days Anna-Maria made overtures of friendship to every crewman she saw, with varying degrees of success. She made the appropriate noises of sympathy and astonishment at their tales of the abuse they had suffered at the hand of their tyrannical Captain. She learned their names, faces, and whatever bits of information on their personal lives she could.

She was surprised to learn that many of them had families at home, and that some of the men had only joined the Jolly Roger so that they could support them. Many had mistresses and friends who they pined for. Some of them had goals and dreams for a future without piracy, though such men were few. Many of the crew served not only out of fear and loyalty to their Captain, but out of a vague sense of rebellion against the Crown and the aristocracy. She did not think it prudent to question them on why it was that they had come to fawn over her so if they hated the wealthy so much. She thought it was probably because of the novelty of her womanhood. For that, they might forgive her anything.

None of them seemed to hate her because of her newfound deformity, though they would ask her about it with relentless curiosity. Was she a witch? Was she a mermaid? A Goddess?

Though she was too good a catholic not to deny being a heathen divinity, she evaded their questions as much as she could. She had no wish to remind them of what she was. She could still barely think of it herself.

Every other day, she would be invited to bathe, and she would never refuse. Not only for the sheer delight of it, but to acquaint herself with the ship as best she could and reassure the crew that she was nothing to be afraid of.

Day by day, the horrors that had befallen her and the indignities she had been subjected to began to fade from the forefront of her mind. That was not to say that she was happy, but every uneventful day made her feel more and more comfortable. She no longer feared that she would be dragged back into the brig in the dead of night, or that her food would suddenly stop coming one day.

It was not just her material living situation that had improved. The spirit who roamed at the edge of her mind was ever-present but she had grown accustomed to its malice and its hunger for her soul. She ignored it as best she could, losing herself in memories and staring out at the sea for hours on end. Anything to distract herself from its incessant hovering. It hung over her thoughts like a vulture over a dying beast. Soon, she felt it would swoop and claim her for its own.

She could resist the thing by day, but her nights were a different story. Her sleeping hours had become a torment and she could not rest for more than a few hours at a time. The dreams of being eaten by sharks were relentless and almost every night the men sent to guard her door would come in to comfort her when she woke screaming, tangled in sailcloth. They would commiserate with her and offer her wine in the small hours of the morning. It was really quite sweet of them, though she thought they were the most unusual nurses in the world. Smee especially had been a great comfort with his tales of the treasure he had seen and the places he had travelled. She envied him his experiences. Despite everything that had happened, she was still the young woman who had pranced through the jungle on the island, touching every branch and leaf on her way purely for the pleasure of it. Before the well, of course. Before everything had been ruined.

Her days spent eating fine food and her nights spent in good (if wicked) company, she began to feel a sense of normalcy as a routine established itself. She and the Captain had not been in the same room since the incident at breakfast, so she had started to feel safe from immediate physical harm, at least.

She knew there was a real danger that she could be lulled into accepting things as they were. Perhaps that was the Captain's intention those first few days, perhaps not. She could not pretend to know the villain's mind in its entirety. But, her own comparative luxury notwithstanding, there was still the matter of her sisters captivity in the brig. She felt that if she did not act soon, her base nature would sway her and she might begin to forget her sisters plight.

So she did what people often do, Anna-Maria especially, when they are frightened on behalf of another person. She decided to throw caution to the wind and act, even if it meant risking everything. She would not be able to live with herself if she did not at least try to free her sister.

Thinking of how it had been when the Captain had dragged them to the brig, she could see no way that she could ever fight him head on. For Anna-Maria knew nothing of Neverland or Wendy, and so she had no idea that the prodigious strength that had come upon him in the corridor was a rare gift. She assumed that he was perhaps some sort of devil or demon, and should she blamed for that? She had seen sirens and was becoming a monster herself, after all.

Her plan, such as it was, was simple, as Anna-Maria was not blessed with a strategic mind.

She had observed that most of the pirates aboard the ship liked her and at least respected her sister. Not only that, but they had even greater reason than she to despise their Captain. Did he not butcher them and degrade them at every opportunity? She could not go against the Captain alone, but if she was clever and persuasive, she would not have to. She even had a rough idea of how to motivate them.

It was the last resort of a frantic mind. She would seize her moment as soon as it presented itself.

One day she dawdled in the Captain's chambers before bathing. Her 'escort' were relaxed around her. Not enough that they were not on their guard, but certainly they did not glare at her and watch her every movement as they once had. Most of the crew were friendly to her even if they did not exactly trust her.

The Captain had been careless today. Usually he rotated her guard so that no man watched her two days in a row. Today he had failed in that.

Saltson and the Friar were assigned to her again, as well as Mr Bell. Mr Bell was an ugly sort of pirate but a very dear one, and he had soon become one of her favourite pirates to talk to. He was one of those crewmen who served so he could send back his wages to his family. He had been one of the few men aboard who showed almost no nervousness towards her, for he was utterly convinced that she was a breed of siren or perhaps the child of a mermaid and that as long as she did not sing, he would be safe from her. She found this belief at once charming and insulting, but he spoke of his daughters and his pregnant wife with such fondness and unwavering loyalty that she could only love him.

She had met the Friar only recently. He was the other sort of pirate. He had left the clergy after accusations of theft were made against him. He insisted he was innocent of it, but Anna-Maria did not believe it for a moment. She knew his greed because she could see it in herself. She suspected that he would have been just as tempted by visions of a golden ship as she had been, and it did not make her hate him any less.

Anna-Maria thought that this was as good a chance as she was going to get, all things considered. She made a show of appraising the opulence all around her. It was nothing alien to her, of course, but she could only imagine how the crewmen saw it. The silver candlesticks, the finely carved mantelpieces, the red plush velvet of his throne. Compared to the hammocks and burlap sacks the crew slept on, the Captain's quarters were a palace. She was counting on the fact that they felt at least some lust for what did not belong to them.

She picked up a candlestick and put it down, knowing that she was only wasting time. But now the time had come to act, she did not know how to go about it. Every word, every gesture, would be crucial. She wished Charlotte were here. She decided to plunge ahead before she lost her nerve.

"Tell me Friar, when the pirates of the Jolly Roger go a-raiding, how much of the plunder finds its way to the crew?" She said it as innocently as she could, but there was no innocence in the question.

Saltson looked at her with narrow eyes. Oh. Her bravery wavered. Perhaps she had erred in making her move with him present. He did not say as much as many other pirates, but she knew he was very clever.

The Friar looked at his feet for a moment before shrugging. But she had seen bitterness in his eyes before he looked down. Bitterness towards his Captain, she thought. He wanted riches like other men wanted women. Good, she thought. She might be able to reach him.

Mr Bell, the family man, looked none the wiser to her intentions. "Not much, m'lady, truthfully speaking. Why do you ask? Do ye wish to become a pirate?"

The men laughed at that and Anna-Maria blessed Mr Bell. The air felt a little clearer now. She picked up a decanter of what looked like brandy and took a sniff. Definitely brandy. She resisted an urge to take a swig of the stuff for courage. She would need to keep her wits about her.

"I am just a young girl and know nothing of piracy, but it strikes me as rather unfair that you men do all the real sailing and sleep on burlap sacks, while the Captain-"

Saltson interrupted her. "Captain Hook is a great man. The best sword and the best shot on the seven seas. He gives us…" There he stopped. Even Saltson could not say that the Captain gave them a fair share, not while he was sitting in a room fit for a lord. He was loyal, but he was not stupid.

"Saltson, Captain Hook is not a great man. He is a dictator. This week he has had two men shot out of a cannon for blinking. Not two days ago he threatened to have one of you skinned and made into a pirate flag if you did not learn to shine his shoes better. You cannot tell me this is normal behaviour from a Captain, even a Captain of a pirate vessel. I hardly know how he has any crew left." And indeed she did not. She wondered if he hired a few dozen men too many every time he made port, just so he could have bodies to spare.

Saltson looked as if he wanted to reply but had not the words. What could he say in the defense of a man who murdered his own crew for blinking? She had heard about that little gem of cruelty from Jack last night as he brought her her dinner. She would have been shocked once, but not any more. The tales of his treatment of them were legendary among the crew. The Captain was so consistently, horribly barbaric that they had grown to accept and even anticipate it. That was part of what made him so dangerous and so compelling. They all waited with bated breath for the next dramatic display so they could relate it to each other, and to her.

The Friar murmured, "It'll be my turn soon, mark my words. I bent a feather on one of his hats not too long ago. I don't know why he has not killed me already."

Anna-Maria sighed in feigned pity. "So, the situation as it stands is this; the men of the Jolly Roger accumulate great wealth for a man who kills them at the slightest provocation and calls them his dogs, and this is of no concern to them? Do you have no pride, no ambition?"The men did not look too enthused, so she tried again, "No sense of self-preservation?"

Saltson was wary. "And you have a solution, lady?"

"Indeed I do, Saltson, though I will need your help, and the help of the whole crew."

The mood of the room had changed. She keenly felt the danger of what she was doing. Even if she said not a word more, she had already said enough to doom herself.

Mr Bell said slowly, "What are ye proposing, Lady Annabelle?"

Here it was. The moment she could not come back from. She forced the words out as best she could. "I am proposing that the men of the Jolly Roger take the ship and her profits from themselves. Not only that, but I am proposing you all act to save your own lives. Surely you did not leave land behind to die under the boot of another tyrant?" She smiled with a boldness she did not feel.

The Friar whispered it, eyes bright and wide. "Mutiny…" All three men looked around with panic as the dread word was uttered, as if afraid that the walls would carry their words to the Captain.

Saltson was not moved. "You cannot beat Captain Hook. No one can. He fights like a demon. You do not know what you are saying. It would be suicide to move against him."

Anna-Maria remembered his strength as he had forced them into the little room. Saltson might be right to fear the Captain as he did. But what she would not say to them for fear of turning them against her, was that if the pirates could only wound him, she could get close enough to kill him with her ink. The idea was revolting, but she would not be so foolish as to ignore a weapon just because using it was distasteful to her.

"It would be suicide not to fight him, because every day or so he kills another one of you and sooner or later there shall be a fresh crew aboard the ship, aside from Mr Smee, who he will not harm no matter what he does."

Their bosun was a point of some contention amongst the crew, she knew. They resented him for his close relation with the Captain and his immunity from the random killings that were exacted on the rest of them, but no one could really hate Smee no matter how they tried and nor could they disobey any order he gave, since he was in many ways the Captain's mouthpiece. That made them resent him more, since it was shameful to love someone whom you had cause to hate. "Perhaps he is a great swordsman and a great shot. But there are three dozen men aboard this ship, by my count, and  _no man_  can face so many opponents at once and live. I will say one thing further on the subject. You see him as a great man, I know. Let me tell you how I perceive him. He is a vainglorious bully, and a cowardly one at that."

Her words hung thick in the air. In a way, her insults were as dangerous as the idea of mutiny. "A coward?" Bell and Friar asked at once.

"Oh yes. He must be. Only a coward keeps two young, unarmed girls locked away and separated from each other. What is there to fear, unless he is a man without courage? Besides, only a man who can be beaten knows fear. If he thinks we women pose a threat to him, what kind of threat would you be if you all stood against him together with your pistols and swords?"

Saltson did not look convinced, but she could see that Bell and Friar were mulling it over, turning it around and around in their slow stupid pirate brains. She exulted. They were hers.

In thoughtful silence, the three pirates returned her to her dressing room. They left her and locked the door behind them. But she felt no apprehension at the noise. Her rebellion had begun. Or it had at least the hope to begin. Only time would tell.

 

* * *

 

Anna-Maria had only begun to scratch the surface of just how uniquely bad the situation aboard the Jolly Roger was for its downtrodden crew.

Being a young girl whose only knowledge of sailing was second-hand and mostly related to the British navy, she assumed that all pirates ship were run in much the same way as the Jolly Roger. Nothing could be further from the truth, however. On most other pirate ships, a sort of democracy was practiced and the captains were chosen and dismissed by popular vote. In fact, most Captains only held absolute power during times of battle when every man had to act as one. This was not common knowledge among land-lubbers, who were taught to fear and despise pirates as lawless brigands. But there is no denying that on any other pirate ship, the murderous behavior of Captain Hook would have seen him mutinied against and deposed a long time ago.

And so while the plan was certainly ill thought out and poorly executed, Anna-Maria's talk of mutiny was not so far-fetched as it might appear. Anna-Maria had no way of knowing it, but she had stumbled upon her only real chance to win freedom for herself and her sister.

Though they were all bewitched by the cruelty of the Captain, and even admired him for it, none of the crew wanted to be his victims. And no man with even a hint of pride can be called a dog for months on end by a man who parades about like a King and refuses to do any real work.

To say nothing of his blatant theft of the crews wages, which he promised would be paid to the men in full at the end of a full six months sailing, plus a generous interest. It was this idea of a huge sum of money that they could not drink and gamble away in the meantime that seduced many sad and desperate men into his service. But after a few months aboard, it became abundantly clear that it would be very unlikely for a crewman to survive six months on the Jolly Roger, as the Captain killed them off the first chance he got.

And so the Captain kept the vast majority of every gold coin that ever passed through the hands of a Jolly Roger pirate for himself, and given his immense skill of arms and his unholy luck, unless pushed very hard the crew would usually put up with it. They had all seen him fight, and even if they did not know the origins of his remarkable gift for killing, they were not so stupid as to think they could overthrow him. But that did not mean they had never considered it, or that they did not long for it.

So it was that even before Anna-Maria opened her mouth, the Jolly Roger was already ripe for mutiny, and needed only a small push.

But the coming of Anna-Maria had thrown things into disarray. Not only had the Captain been murdering them at a faster pace than normal, but Long Eyed Pete had told everyone of Anna-Maria's corrosive ink, and when Smee had not denied it, the whole ship had begun to think that if anyone could help tip the balance against the Captain, it might be Anna-Maria. After all, the Captain could not murder them with no hands at all… Could he?

It should also be understood that the current crew of the Jolly Roger, save for Smee, had never set foot on Neverland, nor sailed her waters. They were native to this world, and were real, living men, with hopes and dreams and pasts of their own, not mere constructs spun together from Wendy Magic. They would not be not so effortlessly subjugated by the will of their Captain as the likes of Noodler and Bill Dukes had been. At least, not indefinitely.

And so the ship was primed for a little revolution.

Most of them could have been persuaded to take up arms against their oppressor if Mr Bell and the Friar had gone to the forecastle that very evening, as they had planned, and gathered the crew about them to discuss a plan of action.

Had she not been so fortunate as to propose mutiny in front of Saltson, things would have gone very badly for Anna-Maria indeed. If the mutiny had gone ahead it certainly would have failed, and the Captain would have been obligated to cut off the head of the snake and publicly murder (and probably torture) Anna-Maria to save himself.

Luckily for her, Anna-Maria had unknowingly proposed mutiny in front of the unacknowledged Second Mate of the ship. Saltson had been on the Jolly Roger for almost a full year and had deliberately made himself so indispensable to both the Captain and his bosun that he was nigh untouchable. For even the Captain was not so impulsive as to murder a crewman who could plot a course through treacherous waters, sail the ship nigh-single handedly, make such repairs to the Captain's clothes as could be made and had the fighting strength of three men. If Smee was Hook's mouthpiece and ear, Saltson was his right hand.

So Saltson took Mr Bell and the Friar straight to Smee and made them confess the whole thing before the fires of mutiny could spread throughout the ship. In doing so, he saved Anna-Maria from being made an example of, even knowing that it could have resulted in the loss of his own life. It would not have been uncharacteristic for the the Captain to shoot the messenger of such inflammatory news, after all, no matter how useful Saltson was.

I relate this to you now so that the heroism of Saltson does not go unsung, because that would be a great injustice and a terrible shame. Anna-Maria, naturally, would never know that she owed Saltson her life.

 


	7. Distasteful Things

Anna-Maria had little sleep that night. She tossed and turned on her trunk, unable to dwell on anything other than the mutiny.

As if sensing her agitation, the beast in her mind gained new strength. She could feel it below, prowling and circling the ship all night long, voraciously searching for her. It pleaded with her to come down into the water and join it. The thing seemed almost eloquent, as if time had granted it new complexity, new emotions. She did not want to think of the implications of that.

She ignored it as best she could, but excitement would have kept her awake even if the beast had not. The men would have had their nightly meal by now. The seeds of dissent could have already been sown. She could not hope to win Smee, she knew that now and regretted that he was so closely tied to the Captain, for she was beginning to care for him. She could only pray that the other pirates would have the good sense not to talk mutiny around him. Long Eyed Pete had probably been lost to her since she had melted that pirate, but she had hopes for many of the others. Saltson had seemed interested, at least, and Mr Bell was hers, and he was quite well liked by the rest of the crew, as far as she could see. It was possible that he could convince the rest of the crew.

She was no great orator, and she knew that she did not have the acumen to bend them to her will. More than anything she might have said, she put her hopes for success on the fact that the mens desires to go back to their families, and their own simple desire to have the money that they earned for themselves would sway them.

It was no use. She gave up on sleep and looked out the window to an ocean bathed in moonlight. The stars adorned the heavens with all their eternal cold beauty. It was a clear night and the ocean was like a mirror reflecting the stars above. She could not help but admire it. She would never have seen such a sight in England. The view calmed her restless mind and though she did not sleep, neither did she descend into useless panic.

She watched the sun ascend into the sky and tried to guess what time it was. She flicked through the trunks again to keep herself occupied. There was nothing else to do, other than pray or think. Truthfully, she did not know what God would think of all this, and was she not now a murderess, as well as a sinner? What would God think of mutiny? She did not beseech Him very often anymore. She was afraid of what He would say if He did talk to her.

She looked out at the sun thoughtfully. At the very least, it was late morning. Her breakfast was late. Could that mean… She could think of no other reason for it other than that her plans had gone ahead. Whether she had succeeded or failed, she had no idea. She had heard no gunfire, no canon. Was that a good sign? Could they have come upon the Captain in his sleep and killed him?

She had her answer when the door swung open to reveal Mr Smee, wringing his hat and looking downcast. Her heart sank to her stomach and a chill washed over her. She wished she could tell her sister that she was sorry.

"You are wanted in the Captain's quarters, m'lady." The bosun said. He shook his head. "What were you thinking? Things were going so well."

She could not reply. She could not explain to him what it felt like to be a prisoner, then to be freed while your cellmate and sister continued to suffer. Nor could she explain how much she owed Charlotte, and how she had so wanted to earn her love and respect. The guilt of her liberty had motivated her to act, as much as her love for Charlotte, the only family she had left. There would be nothing to gain from explaining it to Smee, anyway. He would not understand.

It did not matter. She had failed.

 

* * *

 

She could not feel a thing except disappointment in herself.

She felt as she had when she had followed Charlotte and the Captain below deck that terrible morning; pulled along by fate, unable even to stray a step from the path before her. She followed the bosun up on deck, not looking at any of the men standing around there, just as they did not look at her. The air was heavy with heat and dread. She opened the door with the little plaque upon it and went in to the Captain's quarters with Smee on her heels.

The Captain wore his burgundy and gold again and reclined on the throne at the far end of his long table. She was not surprised to see a feast laid out. It was all part of setting the scene, to remind her of what had happened the last time they had been together. As if she could forget.

He waved her to her seat. "Sit. Eat." He did not look angry. If anything he looked serene. And yet he knew. Smee knew, so he must know.

She sat down. For once, she was not hungry. "A last meal, then?"

He simply smiled his pointed smile at her. They looked at one another for a long moment. "Smee, pour us some wine." The bosun obeyed with an uncanny fastness. She downed her glass in one draught. If he meant to kill her, he could do it, and she needed a drink.

The silence stretched on for an agonising time, and she was about to speak up when the Captain said, "A vainglorious, cowardly bully, hm?" His every word was a calculated, wrenching stab in her gut.

Her mouth had gone so dry she could not speak. The Captain raised an eyebrow at her, waiting for a response, but she could not give one. She was on the razors edge of terror. It was not just that he knew of the mutiny, oh no, he knew everything, word for word. He leaned back in his chair and gazed at the ceiling, his booted feet thumping on the table. She saw that even his boots were emblazoned with the symbol of piracy in what looked like solid gold. He still seemed perfectly at ease.

In a low drawl, the Captain asked, "Tell me, Miss Besswicke. What do you suppose the penalty for mutiny is aboard pirate vessels?"

Wetting her lips, she said as bravely as she could, "Are you about to enlighten me as to what exactly keelhauling is, Captain Hook?"

He laughed. Not his mad laugh, but a hearty one. "By Jove, you have spirit, don't you?" He sounded admiring. He looked at her frankly. "I think you and I shall talk." Without being told, Smee refilled their glasses. Anna-Maria held hers in her hands.

She felt that she had to say something. The silence as he drank and looked at her was terrible. "What else have we been doing?"

"You have been slithering about my feet like a little snake, scheming and biting me at every turn. And I have been trying to fathom why."

She lashed out. "You have kept us prisoner-"

"Prisoner?" He barked. "You know nothing of prisons, woman, if you think my dressing room is a prison. Why, you have lived better than most englishmen, under my care."

Did he actually believe the things he was saying? She was shaking, outrage and fear made a heady cocktail. In a low, furious voice, she said, "I was not speaking of the dressing room, and you know it."

"What I know, you ill mannered thing, is that a liar and murderess such as yourself deserves what she gets. You are  _damned lucky_ I did not have you thrown overboard weeks ago instead of just imprisoning you, as you so self-righteously call it. I grow tired of your ingratitude."

"Ingratitude?"

"Yes, ingratitude! Without me, you would be eating coconuts and scrounging for fruit on that cursed island, praying for rescue. I am your  _saviour._ You should be on your knees singing my praises."

She remembered the primordial terror of their flight through the jungle, jumping at every sound, running past the point of exhaustion as they were hounded by this man's filthy pirates. She remembered being so afraid that she had killed to protect herself and her sister, she remembered how the pirates had surrounded them in a circle with their weapons drawn, and how she had committed herself to suicide by Siren's song rather than come aboard this ship.

And he expected her to be grateful? He expected her to thank him?

Had she ever been angry, truly angry, before she met him? Had she ever known hate?

The Captain was still raving, "And how do you repay me? You plot and scheme and threaten the natural order aboard my ship. Murder and theft and deception was not enough for you, oh no, you plot a damned  _mutiny_. Wicked, seditious thing. I should have you skinned."

Her head was spinning. She had expected to be tortured and murdered as soon as she opened his door, not challenged to a debate. She was so enraged, so ill prepared for his accusations that could barely keep up with what he was saying, let alone argue against him.

"What right do you have to call me a liar and a murderess, Pirate?" She could not dispute that she was a thief, since she had stolen his beef in this very room. Nor could she exactly say she was not a mutineer, even if she was clearly a very poor one.

The Captain answered confidently. "That you are a liar is without question. You and your sister both gave false names when I rescued you."

Her heart stopped within her chest. How much did he know? Rage was forgotten, cast aside in favour of fear. "False names? That is absurd." She teetered over an abyss. She tried to distract him. "And you did not rescue us, you used us as bait for shooting. You brought us on deck only to further torment us."

His anger visibly melted away and his gaze became wistful. "Yes, and remarkably fine shooting that was, too. I have not had such a challenge since…" He caught himself as he realised what she was doing. "My, we are cunning, aren't we? Well, you are a liar again, because I know that you are not who you pretend to be. Your sister- Charlotte, I believe- gave me your real name days ago, Anna-Maria." He said the name slowly, as if savouring it.

She wanted the ship to sink at that moment. With her still on it. "I suppose, then that you know…" She drifted off.

"That you are both at risk of losing your family fortune and that you have no great reward to offer me for your safe passage back to old England? Oh yes, I know." He looked very smug. He raised a glass in toast to her. "I must say, mutineer or not, murderess or not... good show."

That still offended her. "A liar, yes, but a murderess I am not. You shot that crewman yourself. I only took his hand off."

He sighed. "Yes, yes, but I sent  _five_  pirates after you on the island, and only four returned to the longboat with you. Since your dear sister would not sully her precious hands with killing, I've surmised that you must be responsible. Am I wrong?"

She could only stare at him dumbly. Good God, the pirate knew arithmetic! Had he known they had killed his crewman when they first came aboard? She was starting to understand just how hopeless their attempt at persuading him to take them in had been.

His gaze had all the warmth of winter, despite the smile that curved his lips. "Oh, you have nothing to say? No excuse to give me? Your sister at least made something up. What was it, Smee?" He did not take his eyes off her.

"Something about a ravine, Captain. Fell in, banged his head."

Captain Hook gave a chuckle of disbelief. "Oh yes, that was it. A pirate of ten years. Fallen dead in a ravine. Remarkable." He held his glass up, Smee refilled it. He was enjoying this, she realised. "Is the game over, Anna-Maria?"

Anger seized her again. Very few people had ever called her by her given name, and all of them were beloved. It sounded wrong coming from his lips. She spoke contemptuously, "Do not use such familiarity with me, Captain. We are neither friends nor family."

"Are we not?" His voice was surprisingly calm; she had expected him to fly into a rage at her rebuke. "Is there not a special bond between those who have tried to kill and injure one another?"

She remembered killing the pirate with a rock to his forehead. It had been over so quickly that she had not felt a thing as she had done it. And watching the pirate get pulled underwater by a shark, which she supposed was also her fault as it had been her idea to split the boat apart. "I cannot say." She said honestly.

"Hm. Perhaps you will see fit to bless me with your thoughts on the subject some other time. But you have not answered my question,  _Miss Westwood_ " he said her true surname mockingly, "Is the game over?"

She took a sip of her wine. The man had figured it all out. He knew that they were all but penniless. He knew she was a murderer and that she had tried to incite his crew to overthrow and kill him. She shrugged, resignation lending her some strange comfort. "I suppose so." Now that she drank it slowly, she could see the wine was very good.

He pouted. He looked very young when he did that. "A shame. I've had Admirals give me less sport than you girls."

It was clear that his good mood had not broken. Could she salvage this, despite everything? Slowly, carefully, she said, "We still have property. We could sell the manor, or the house in Cornwall. There could still be a profit in this for you, if you only let us return to England and pay you."

His answer was so quick that she could only assume he had been prepared for her offer. "Your sister has assured me that she would rather die, and I think you would too. What strange creatures women are. They are only houses."

How wrong he was. They were not only houses; they were receptacles of time and memory. They had been raised there, and Charlotte would not part with a single floorboard that mother may have walked upon. Their brothers had grown up there too; William and poor dead Charles. She had not known how precious her childhood home was until she left it, and all the history in its walls. Perhaps pirates did not know what it was to have a home, but she did and ached to be back in hers.

"Why don't you just kill us, then? You know we have no money to offer you, and the game is up. As a mutineer, I should already be dead."

"If only. But as I said, we will talk."

"I cannot think of what I could say that could possibly make a difference."

Frustration clouded his face. "Then you should think harder. The well on the island, you drank from it, yes?"

She was taken aback by the sudden change of topic. "Yes. I have been meaning to ask you of it."

"Before or after you had me murdered by my own crew? No, don't answer that. I suspect that you did not think that far ahead."

She seethed impotently. He was about to give her the answers she wanted. She had to keep the reins on her temper. "This well," She managed to say, "What does it have to do with what happened to me? With my… transformation."

"Why, it was magic, what else?"

Magic? Slowly, she said, "That tumbled down old thing? The one with the rusty bucket and the dirty water?"

With a grimace, he said, "Shocking, I know. One of these days, I must get around to gilding the thing. As magical items go, it looks appallingly pedestrian."

"A magical well? Like a…" It did sound familiar. "A wishing well? From the stories? That's impossible."

"Do you think so? But then, this world has very little magic compared to where I come from. Water that grants the wishes of those that drink from it is almost sensible, in my experience."

"So, if it grants the desires of those that drink from it…"

He looked as if he wanted to laugh at her. "Then you wished to be a monster. What a strange woman you are. The slime must play havoc on your hair."

"I did  **not** wish for this." She said very firmly. This was insane. The only thing she wished for on that island was for safety from pirates, or to have never been spotted by them in the first place. How could that possibly have resulted in her deformity? "How do I even know that the well was the cause?"

He gave a lazy shrug. "I know of nothing else that could have done it. But whether or not you believe that the well is the cause of your present- ah, enhancements, is of no matter to me. I am simply extending a hook in friendship to a fellow drinker."

Anna-Maria looked at him in amazement. "You drank from it?"

"How do you think I knew of the island in the first place? Do you have any idea how vast the ocean is? Use your brain. I knew where it was because I had been there before."

She looked at him for the first time. Really looked at him. A proud nose, the pale skin of an aristocrat, fine cheekbones, clear cold eyes, dark curled hair. His form was fit and strong, for all that he only had one hand. He looked… human. "You don't look like a sea-beast." She said begrudgingly.

He huffed. "I should think not. I have no idea why you would wish for such a thing, but I wished properly. Eternal youth, immunity from harm, all that."

There was so much about it that made no sense to her, but when she thought about it, she could not dismiss the possibility entirely. After all, had she not been seduced by a Siren herself, and seen the bruises it left upon her sister? She could not dispute that there was magic in the world after what she had seen. And the little lake around the well  _had_ looked odd, now she looked back on it.

Her cunning mind worked around the problem and eventually started looking for a solution, an advantage, anything she could use. It did not take long.

"Prove it." She said, a challenge ringing in her voice.

He drew his eyebrows together in surprise. "What?" He pronounced the 'h' so strongly that she could have laughed.

"This is nothing but another one of your games. If you were immune from harm, then you would not be crippled as you are, surely. You see? It is an obvious trick." She smiled a little, the logic of the argument was such that Charlotte might have been proud.

He seemed lost in thought. "Whyever would I want my old hand back? This one serves me far better." He fell quiet as he stroked his namesake tenderly. His eyes narrowed as he thought it over. Then he smiled. "Alright, thief, I'll prove it." He spread his arms grandly. "Go on. Try to kill me. You've been wanting to since the day we met. Here's your chance. Pistol or sword?"

Was that a joke? She stared at him, waiting for him to laugh. He did not. He just sat there with his arms spread. She looked to Smee, still standing behind his master. He did not look afraid for him, only interested.

"Kill me, and your sister walks free. Go on. Take up this pistol and shoot me with it. It is loaded." He took out his pistol and threw it down the table at her. Smee flinched at his carelessness.

She could not believe her luck. Had her jailer, her tormentor, really just invited her to kill him? Could he be bluffing? But why would he really risk his life for some proud boast or elaborate lie? She looked at the pistol. It would not do. It could have been tampered with, and she was too proud to ask her enemy to teach her how to shoot. They could be here all day while she shot at his furniture. She could think of a much more direct approach. She smiled.

"If you are immortal, as you claim to be, you would not object to any method I use."

He frowned at her. "No." Already she could see the gears turning behind his eyes. Best not give him time to think it over. Bolstering her courage with thoughts of freedom, she stood up and walked over to the Captain, her bare feet sinking into the plush red carpet. He looked her up and down as she approached him. She felt acutely self conscious in her second-hand mens clothes. Her skin crawled, she could almost feel his eyes upon her.

She stopped when she was near enough to touch him and reached for his empty wine glass with one hand, then reached up into her hair with the other. His eyes widened in realisation and his face became even paler. "Would you like to withdraw your offer, Captain? Do you admit you are nothing but an ordinary man?"

Her old accusation of cowardice lay thick in the air between them. He knew it, she knew it, Smee knew it. He could not back down from her challenge without losing face, and the fear and admiration of his peers was something he craved, she knew that for a fact.

He tried to look nonchalant, but the tightness of his features betrayed him. He was afraid. He had seen what her ink had done to the pirate who had tried to move her against her will. His eyes flickered between her, the glass, her hair and Smee. She felt that she could read his thoughts as he tried to think of a way he could escape the noose he had tied for himself without forsaking his pride.

She would gladly tighten it for him.

She did not really know what she was doing, but she willed the tentacles to understand how much she hated this man, and how crucial his death was to her. Nothing happened, at first, save for the extremely distracting sensation of feeling her hand through her tentacle. She would not lose herself in it this time. She squeezed tentatively, a disgustingly squishy feeling as the things had no bones, and her hand became wet. She withdrew it to find it covered in black, oily ink. The Captain looked at her hand with a grimace. Smee was visibly shaking, she did not know if it was in fear of her or fear for his Captain. Either way, the faith the crew had that their Captain could not be beaten was about to be dismantled. Her mutiny had failed, but here was victory. She stopped when the glass was almost a quarter full with the black liquid, then proffered it to Captain Hook with a wide smile. It was enough to burn his throat, likely enough to kill him.

Their eyes locked. The gauntlet had been tossed.

He managed a smirk and took the glass. He held it to his lips. His breath fogged the glass as he looked up at her. She watched breathlessly and willed him to drink and die, and be gone from her life forever. He dipped the glass to her in a little toast before tipping his head back and downing it in one swig.

His eyes widened and he raised his hook to his lips. She gasped in delight as he choked and swallowed. Her gasp became a wild and joyous laugh that rang throughout the room. She could not help herself. It might have been the happiest moment of her life. Was it wicked, to be so happy at the sight of her enemy dooming himself? She found she did not care. His pride, his pretensions, had sealed his fate. No man had ever deserved death more. At best, he would die on the spot. At worst, he would be so grievously wounded by the ink that she would be able to finish him off. Either way, he was done for. It was over.

Captain Hook grimaced and made a gasping, hacking cough as he doubled over. His head hit the table as he clutched at his throat in clear agony. Smee fluttered over him like a distressed bird over her fallen chick. Anna-Maria rejoiced all the while. She and her sister were free.

Her laughter died as he went still, if only because she had run out of breath. It was over. She sent up praises to God. When she got home, she would sell everything in this room, no, she would sell the whole wretched ship, and use the funds to build a house for the poor. After her debts were settled, of course.

His pale fingers twitched. She frowned. His death throes, perhaps? His hand spasmed, then reached up to curl round the wine glass. Her joy turned to ash in her mouth.  _No. No no no. Damn you, devil, die._ Slowly, weakly, he raised up the glass.

Smee jittered forward and filled it with wine. With a sigh, the Captain heaved himself upright and looked up at her. His mouth was smeared with a foul yellow liquid, but he was very much alive. His eyes were both tired and amused as his lips curled into a smile. He drank the wine without so much as acknowledging Smee.

"Well, that was unpleasant. Dreadful stuff, your ink. Are you satisfied?" His voice had lost its silkiness, but he could still speak. How? She had seen the ink melt flesh off the bone!

She could only stare at him. All signs of pain were gone from his face as he dabbed at his mouth daintily with a napkin. "Why won't you die?"

"As I said, I am to be young and strong forever. Do you still doubt me? If you do, I do not know how I shall ever convince you."

She could only stare.

"Perhaps you could fill a barrel with the stuff and push me into it." He suggested. She could not kill him and there would be no mutiny. It was hopeless. She tried and failed to stifle a sob, and soon she was crying outright.

"Oh stop that girlish bawling. Smee, get the lady into her chair."

 

* * *

 

That afternoon in his quarters, Hook was being very unkind to Anna-Maria. He was also lying to her. This may not shock us, but we are entitled, of course, to be disappointed in him.

You see, Hook was not really as invulnerable to harm as he needed Anna-Maria to believe. It was true that after his final day in Neverland he had finally vanquished time with a long drink from the wishing well, but a bullet through the eye or a sword through the heart could kill him, just as well as it could kill any man, though lesser wounds healed faster for all drinkers of the fated well. Certainly he had the magic of the Wendy to strengthen him too, but such blessings were few and far between these days.

The truth of it is that after seeing Anna-Maria reduce his crewman's hand to its bare bones quite by accident, he had cultivated a justifiable fear of the young woman. His days and nights were haunted by visions of being burned by her. He knew that he could kill her from a distance, of course, but what if she got up close? Snuck into his chambers at night and strangled him? Melted a hole through the hull and sent him to a watery grave? Hook was a paranoid man and he did not want to die. And greater still was the fear of her injuring him, of inflicting another wound such as Pan had done. He had made his hook into a useful thing, but he could not bear the idea of losing another hand, or a leg.

Sadly, in his inhumane treatment of her, he had given Anna-Maria ample reason to wish him ill, something he now cursed himself for. Not that he regretted locking an innocent young woman in a dark, stinking cell for weeks. It was simply that he regretted choosing the wrong sister to bribe with cups of tea, good food and the occasional song on the harpsichord by candlelight.

Given that he could neither kill Anna-Maria (for reasons that will become clear in time) nor allow himself to be killed by her, he did what he always did when presented with a challenge.

He cheated.

Decades ago he earned the enmity of the wishing well by stealing from its waters. Drinking from the thing had not been enough for him, oh no, Hook wanted to bottle the life-giving waters and take them with him. For emergencies.

So about five minutes before he sent for Anna-Maria, he brought out a flask from a chest he kept under his bed, and drank the whole thing.

It did not grant him a wish, as the waters only grant one wish for every drinker. But it did give him the regenerative capacity he needed to survive a confrontation with Anna-Maria, should she turn blood thirsty. In a way, he was paying her a compliment, for he knew full well that she was the only real threat that he had faced in years.

And it was a good thing that he did, for if he had not drank from the flask, Anna-Maria's clever dare would have been the end of Captain Hook.

 

* * *

 

Poor Anna-Maria was gently pushed, prodded and coaxed back into her chair. It said something for her state that she did not resist the bosun. She could not see for her tears.

"Miss Westwood, you do not seem pleased. Am I to assume you wished me dead? I am appalled."

His mocking was too much. Through her sobbing, she called him something very, very rude. If Father had heard her, he would have had a fit.

He merely tutted at her cursing before steepling his fingers and his hook together. "Since you cannot kill me, and my dogs know better than to turn against their master, perhaps we can come to an understanding? A sort of truce."

A more clever sort of young woman would have questioned why a man who was invulnerable needed to form a truce with her in the first place. After all, a man who could not be harmed would not need to negotiate with an enemy, he could simply cut them down. But Anna-Maria's suspicions were not raised then as perhaps they should have been. She was miserable, and understandably so.

Anna-Maria said nothing, she was too preoccupied with trying to control her tears. Smee patted her shoulder and said 'there, there' in a fatherly sort of way. It did not make her feel much better.

Hook took in her emotional state with smug satisfaction, knowing his ruse had worked. "Hush, now. You are quite safe here. I had no idea that you were superior person, like myself. Now that I am aware, I will behave accordingly."

Anna-Maria sniffed. "A superior person? Not five minutes ago, you called me an ill mannered thing."

"And not five minutes ago, you tried to murder me. I find myself in a forgiving mood, and eager to… reassess our situation. What about you, Miss Westwood?"

Captain Hook was not in a forgiving mood. He had never really known forgiveness and had no idea how to practice it. But when it came to saving his own skin, the man was a genius.

Anna-Maria had recovered enough to scoff. "Forgive you? You threw me in a dungeon. You starved me and tormented me, and cut me off from the sun." She refused to acknowledge that he might have had no choice if he had wanted to keep his supremacy over the crew.

He frowned at her. He had the grace to look, or at least pretend very convincingly to look, a little guilty. "I admit, the business with the brig was perhaps… bad form. Uncalled for. When I sent my men to bring you aboard, I had no idea you would run quite so far, or go to such lengths. It had been my intention from the beginning to ask if either of you had drunk from the well, but when your sister challenged me to a game of wits…" The man shrugged. "I could not help myself. I am not a man to back down from a challenge, it goes against my nature. And then your theft of my beef… It became a rivalry, and I can never refuse a rivalry. But that is all in the past now. Let there be a truce, at least. Do no harm to me, and I will do none to you. You cannot kill me anyway, as I have just proven, so why waste ink on it?" He smiled disarmingly, though he could never look innocent.

It seemed very out of the blue to Anna-Maria, but she could see the benefit to her. She had come in here expecting death, after all, and now he was offering her peace. "Will you swear it? On something that matters to you; on your school, Eton?" She had learned from Smee that the place was a school the Captain had once attended. She thought his attachment to the place laughable but considering how she felt about her childhood home, perhaps that was unkind of her.

With a solemn air, he laid his hook upon his heart. "As you wish. I swear upon that noble institution."

That would have to do. "Thank you. Now, can you see that it is harmful to me to know my sister is locked up and suffering?"

The Captain sneered at Smee, who swiftly sneered right back at him. She did not see what was so funny about having empathy for another living creature. "What does it matter to you? I can see to it that your stay aboard my ship is pleasant." He asked, once he and his bosun were done mocking her.

"I love her. Have you no family? I cannot be truly comfortable if she is in pain."

He snorted. "Family indeed. How very… quaint." He mulled it over. "If I release her, you will both swear on whatever you hold dear- your fine houses, I suppose- that you will cause no more trouble. You will be civil until your sister goes ashore."

She nodded enthusiastically. Could he really be willing to be agreeable, to let Charlotte out of the brig? It was not the death she had hoped for, but it was a fair outcome.

The last thing he had said dawned on her. "I think you mean… until my sister and I go ashore." She hedged.

"I meant what I said, and - do not hiss at me like that, little snake- I assure you, I will not keep you prisoner here when we come to port. The choice will be yours. Never let it be said that Captain Hook keeps a woman aboard his ship against her will. I am a gentleman, after all."

She did not have the time or the inclination to explain to him the many reasons why he was no such thing. "Then… why would you think I would stay? What reason could I possibly have?"

He cocked an eyebrow slightly and looked at her as if she were very stupid. "Come now, Miss Westwood, you cannot go back. Not with your…" He pointed to her head and looked at Smee as if asking him for a diplomatic turn of phrase to describe the monstrosities growing on her scalp. Smee simply shrugged, at a loss for words. "Unusual headdress. You would never be accepted in polite society, you must know that."

With ruthless ease, he had taken the wind out of her sails. Once again, she was lost.

He was right. How could she go back home, freak that she was? What would happen if someone saw the things? She would be condemned. People would  _talk._  Everyone who had considered themselves a friend of their family would pretend they had never known her.

She had not thought of it. Why had she not thought of it? Why had she not thought ahead? She could grow fins any day, for all she knew. She had been so focussed on overcoming him, on helping Charlotte, on everything else, that she had not thought about the long-term consequences of her affliction. All that had kept her going through this ordeal was visions of her returning home, of somehow making everything right and settling their debts, and being able to recover some sort of life from it all. And now he had exposed another obstacle getting in the way of her happiness, and this one was not so easily overcome as a Siren, or a desert island, or even a crew of pirates. The real problem would be herself.

Too late, the Captain realised he had struck a nerve and waved at Smee. Her lip began to tremble ominously. "Ah, enough of this for now. I can see you are out of sorts- damnation! Stop crying this instant! Blast! Smee! Take her back to her chambers and bring her a tray later- Miss Westwood! THAT IS MY GOOD LINEN, STOP THAT! What are you waiting for, Smee? Get her out of here at once."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've made it this far, stay with me, if you can. This is the last chapter inspired by the dream for a long while, so things will be a bit more normal from now on. Also try to be gentle and bear in mind that Peter Pan is kind of filled with ridiculous and silly things. We're talking about a story where happy thoughts beat gravity.
> 
> From now on, Hook will be appearing a lot more in the story, so please don't worry. Sorry it took so long to get to this point.


	8. At Long Last

The Captain’s revelation had left her miserable all night and she had barely been able to stomach her dinner when it was brought into her. Even the beauty of the view from her little window had not brought her out of her miasma. Would this be her life now? The sea lost its awe-inspiring charm now she knew she might never see anything else.

If she could not go home, what was the point of it all?

Captain Hook had looked at her like she was idiot for not seeing it, and he was probably right. She should have thought of this long before now. It was the first time she had truly felt like a freak, although she had been one for days.

Until he had explained it, she had not realised how condemned she would be by her peers if she were discovered. In many ways, this was a new age. People, even common people, had rights, at least in theory. Society was not so quick to persecute, to vilify, those that deviated from the norm as it had been. But those that were visibly deformed had only a few fates to choose from, where they had a choice at all. None of them were pleasant. She could not stand to dwell on it, and yet with unerring determination, her mind was forced back down the same paths, over and over. At best, she would be entertainment for a court somewhere, a bauble to be displayed at the end of a party. At worst, she would be paraded through taverns as a freak. People would pay to see her. People would laugh at the sight of her. She shuddered so hard she could barely stand as she gripped onto the window frame.

What awaited her at shore was not a life. But she had no life worth living here, either.

Finally she had thrown herself down into sleep, only to be ensnared again by her nightmares. They were as bad as ever. She was torn to shreds a thousand times. She woke but still it was not over. She was drenched in sweat and unable to move even a finger, barely able to breathe. She laid there, eyes unblinking, staring at the ceiling as the little room filled with the heavy breathing of the beast. She could feel the shadow of it curling around her trunk, staring at her with malice and desire. All was terror. Its teeth scraped the soles of her feet and still she could not move an inch to save herself. With all her strength, she tried and tried to scream out for help, she was so convinced that it was there. She could not whisper. Eventually exhaustion claimed her and she drifted into sleep, and then she awoke again, and so on the cycle went.

When she finally awoke from the labour of her sleep, she found that her grief had been like a summer storm; it had come and gone swiftly, for all its bluster. Her makeshift pillow was damp with tears but her mind was resolute and calm again.

She had always been a creature of intuition and passion, and while it left her prone to what Charlotte called ‘hysterics’, it sometimes delivered her solutions to problems that others would have agonised over for weeks. Inspiration struck her now and it occurred to her that she had allowed the tumult of her discussion with the Captain to impact her too severely and it had prevented her mind from grasping obvious truths that now shone through as the dawn transcended over the sea.

His immunity to her ink had frightened and dismayed her, but had she ever truly believed that she could kill him before yesterday? It had been a spur of the moment attempt which could never have succeeded. The only difference was that now she knew about it and could behave accordingly. She would have to be more careful when speaking to him, but it was better to know that now than to proceed in ignorance and blunder. She had been lucky to have even hurt him, all things considered. But providing he did not lapse into ‘bad form’, as he called it, his superhuman abilities did not have to concern her. She only had to hope that he would remain true to his word and do no harm to her, providing she was ‘civil’ and ceased her attempts to kill him.

Most importantly, she also realised that his insistence that she would not be able to return to land and resume her life was simply untrue. Certainly, if the things upon her head grew, or if she sprouted the fins she dreaded and became a sea beast in the real sense, she would be forced to abandon home forever. But if the things remained as they were, or at least did not get much worse, it was nothing she could not conceal with a little ingenuity and some money. Large wigs were all the fashion, and with a discreet wig-maker she could easily have something tailored to cover up her freakishness. The tentacles were smaller than her hand and could even be covered by her hair. She could even take to wearing hooded cloaks so that if the cursed things did grow no one would be shocked to see her head covered. She could pretend it was an affectation of hers, perhaps something she had picked up from a French family somewhere. She would have to bathe alone, of course, but that too could be one of her many eccentricities. Providing she had means, she would not be ostracised for being eccentric, in fact she rather thought her company could be made all the more desirable for it, if she played her cards right.

The dreams were another matter, if servants heard her screaming and thrashing there would be talk. If a physician heard of her condition, there would be real danger. But she had heard of sleeping draughts and powders that she guessed could help her. For the right price, a physician would sell her anything. Of course, she still had no means with which to live, but she was working on that. She was beginning to think that she might have to do things she did not like the thought of if she was going to pay her debts and live in society again. If she were to afford the privacy and esteem she needed, she would need money, and a lot of it.

In the light of day, she could see that there were so many solutions to problems that had seemed insurmountable the night before. Unless the Captain either revealed her secret, or Charlotte did, she could see no reason to resign herself to a fate here. She was mortified to think that she had been so distressed over such an unsubstantiated claim, particularly since she had known the Captain for what he was.

The mutiny had been a useful exercise, she surmised, despite her failure to have the Captain murdered. Some of the information it had yielded her was amazing, if it could be believed. Had she really ended up like this because of a wish she did not remember making? It made no sense to her. Surely if she had wished for anything on the island, it would be for rescue, or for the pirates chasing her to drop dead, or for the Jolly Roger to go down in flames. She patted her scalp, frowning, thinking of her tentacles and the whispers of the things in the sea. She had never wished for anything like this. She wished she could speak to Charlotte about it all.

The rest of the morning passed as it always did, with her eating breakfast and looking out of her window. She noted that the sun did not seem so ferocious, nor the sea so blue. Had they left tropical waters behind at last? Every hour bought her closer to home. It was an encouraging thought, and she smiled as she devoured the last of her breakfast.  

The only other change that she could discern was that the pirates who guarded her were men she had never seen before, and they eyed her with open distrust and even hate. She knew that she would probably never see the Friar, Saltson and Mr Bell again, if they even still lived. She hoped that Saltson and Mr Bell had not been killed or tortured, at least. They were good men, if pirates could be good.

The sun was shining valiantly through the clouds when her door opened again. She turned to find Smee peeking in at her. The disappointment of yesterday was wiped clean from him.  He looked... happy. He stood quite straight and he smiled at her broadly. She tried, not for the first time, to resist smiling at the sight of him, and failed.

“I have an invitation for you, Miss.”

She put on her most nonchalant face. “Oh yes?” What did Captain Hook want now? Would he try to smash her hopes again over a cup of tea? Let him try. She would be ready for him.

He stood to attention, like a proper servant, and recited, “Miss Westwood, your sister, the Lady Georgi- ah, the other Miss Westwood, that is, invites you to take a turn about the deck.”’

She looked at him piercingly as her heart hammered in her chest. She climbed down from her trunk to look him straight in the eye. “Mr Smee,” her voice trembled, “If you and your master are playing a trick on me, it is a very cruel one.”

“No trick m’lady. Come quickly. The Captain has arranged it in exchange for your cooperation. Come up. Your sister awaits.”

Her heart was in her mouth as she followed the bosun down the creaking corridor. Could it be true, was Charlotte free? She walked in a daze through the bowels of the ship. Before long they stood at the foot of the topmost stairs. She could see the sunlight pouring down, hear the waves, even smell the sea. Her legs felt very, very weak all of a sudden, and she balanced herself against the wall with a shaking hand. Smee was halfway up the stairs before he noticed she was not behind him. He looked down to see her swaying at the foot of the stairs, looking with untold yearning and fear up at the sunlight.

More than anything else, she feared what she might see up there. The thought that Charlotte might have been killed to torment her hung heavy in her mind. She could walk up those stairs and see Charlotte’s corpse, for all she knew. Her longing and anxiety warred with each other.

The old bosun thudded down the stairs and reached out a grubby hand to her. “Come up, m’lady. Easy does it.” She took his hand and climbed the first stair. “There, that wasn’t so hard was it?” Oh, but it was hard. She took another step with wobbly legs. At this rate she would be on deck by nightfall. She knew she must hurry, but the thought of what might await her on deck sickened her to the core.

Step by step the bosun cajoled, pleaded, scolded and eventually simply pulled her up the stairs.

Trembling like a leaf, she came up into the afternoon sunlight. Her eyes had become so accustomed to small spaces that the deck of the ship seemed huge to her now. She saw that the main mast of the ship wore a sail painted with a huge skull and crossbones. Near it was a cannon that looked big enough to shoot a house into smithereens. She could only imagine how many ships had been blasted down by it. That would be Long Tom, she guessed.

The deck was empty of crew, which was very strange indeed. Where was everyone? Had the Captain cleared the deck for them to allow them privacy? Or had he simply killed the whole crew? She found the latter option more likely.

And there, lit with the sun like an angel, was Charlotte. She stood at the... bow? of the ship with her back turned to her, gazing out over the sea. She wore shabby men’s clothes too but still managed to look elegant. She must have heard Anna-Maria’s gasp, because she turned to see her and Smee looking at her. Some of the tension in her shoulders ebbed and she smiled a little.

Since Anna-Maria had been born, she had never been parted so long from Charlotte’s side. Seeing her again, alive and well, was all she needed. She forgot her tentacles, the dire warning of the Captain, the family debts. Everything was forgotten in the wave of overwhelming gratitude and love she felt at the sight of the only real family she had left to her.

Charlotte quirked an eyebrow in dry amusement. “Anna. There you are. I was beginning to think you had gotten lost.”

Laughing and weeping all at once, Anna-Maria flew across the deck, tripping over herself in her haste to get to her sister. Charlotte’s eyes barely had time to widen before Anna-Maria barrelled into her and knocked her off her feet. The two sisters went down in a tangle, one laughing and the other crying out with surprise.

Everything was right again. It had not been a trick. Anna-Maria patted her sisters face and her hair, crowing with delight and kissing her cheeks as Charlotte squirmed and groaned underneath her. Behind them, Smee looked on in open amazement.

Charlotte was well and truly fuming at this point, but she could not dislodge her sister. She was very strong, despite being shorter than her by more than a hand. “That is enough! Sister, let me up! Let me up, I say, silly girl!”

Thus reprimanded, Anna-Maria got off her sister and pulled her up, still grinning like an imbecile. Her sisters hazel eyes may have been a little misty with tears, she thought. But Charlotte, cry at the sight of her? She would not have believed it possible.

She apologised half-heartedly for knocking her over while Charlotte dusted herself off. She was still apologising as they pulled themselves to their feet.

Charlotte had regained her dignity by then. She offered the crook of her arm, “Take a turn with me, Anna.” It was not a question. Her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment at her sisters act of exuberance but she was not frowning. Anna-Maria slipped her arm through her sisters and they began to stroll, slowly, about the deck. She wanted desperately to speak but did not know what to say. So much had happened. Their reunion was momentous and she felt afraid to spoil it with a wrong word.

Charlotte began, “You are well, I trust?”

It felt so... sterile. So inadequate a question. The shackles of manners and propriety shaped her every word. What her sister really meant to ask was _are you beaten? Are you starved? Are you terrorised and tormented? Are you raped? Will we survive?_

All she could bring herself to say was, “Yes, quite well. And you?” _Have you been fed and given water today? Are you free of the brig? Now that the Captain feels he has no more use for you, can you hope to make it home in one piece?_

“Oh yes, as well as can be expected.”

So much was unspoken between them, and yet they both understood one another. Their basic needs were met. The future was unclear.

Charlotte murmured under her breath, “Anna, when I saw you last, you had these-” She paused and her grip on Anna-Maria tightened slightly, “Protrusions, upon your head. They killed that pirate. Did I imagine it?” Outwardly, Charlotte seemed as cool as ever but the turmoil that lay beneath the skin was very clear. She had begun to doubt the veracity of her own mind, locked in the brig by herself all those long days. Anna-Maria could not blame her.

“No, Charlotte, though I wish to God that you had.”

Charlotte’s mouth twisted at that. She looked deeply uncomfortable. “I see.”

They came to a stop and stood against a railing and looked down into the depthless waters. Anna-Maria knew almost instantly that it was a mistake. She felt herself vanishing into the blue and her mind emptied of thought. All she could do was stare vacantly. The sea was echoing. There was a whiplash within her as the mind of the Beast awakened and leaned into her with boundless curiosity. She knew she had to get away from the sea. She felt the mind pressing against hers clench with hunger. She squeezed her eyes shut until she saw stars, sucking in deep breaths to steady herself. Biting her lip, she turned her back on the sea and walked towards the main mast. Every step pulled her down inexorably. Down, where the Beast awaited. She had to seize a rope in her hand just to remain on her feet. The distance, as small as it was, helped her a little. She focussed on the feeling of the coarse rope in her hands and the weakness of her legs. It was a welcome distraction from what called to her.

Charlotte followed after a moment. “Anna, are you unwell?” She sounded concerned.

“I am fine. Just dizzy. It is strange to be in the open.” It was not a complete lie. And besides, she could not tell her sister what she felt. What could she say? That the sea beasts that followed her knew when she looked into the sea, knew when she was near the hull, called to her even as she slept, and that she was safe nowhere. But Charlotte had not believed her visions in the brig and she would not believe them now. Not until the Beast dragged her screaming into the sea before her very eyes would she believe it.

She could only hope that the Jolly Roger was fast enough to outrun whatever chased her long enough to get to shore. Once she stepped foot on land, she would not leave it again. A sea beast could not follow her ashore, she could be free of it there, surely. If the Captain even kept his word and took them ashore. Her head swam.

She must have looked bad, for Charlotte ushered her onto a barrel to sit and asked Smee to bring her some water. “Have courage, Anna. I do not know when we will have this chance to speak again.”

Right. Of course. The Beast beckoned again, no, _Beasts,_ for she sensed that it had friends coming, she ignored them all to question her sister. “Charlotte, are you being treated well? The Captain swore that if I made no more trouble you would be let out of the brig.”

“Then he spoke truthfully; I was let out yesterday. They keep me in a little storage room. They feed me well and gave me a bucket of water to bathe in. I do not know how you managed it, sister. Well done.”

 _All it took was a failed mutiny and a gulp from the well of wishes to convince the Captain that I was worthy of his courtesy, think nothing of it._ Anna-Maria did not know if she had the time or the desire to explain it all. That her sister had thanked her was enough. Charlotte did not need to know the fantastical details of how she had been sprung from the brig.

“I do not think we are in the tropics any longer. Perhaps we are in English waters. We shall be home before long.” Anna-Maria ventured, as much to steer the conversation to safer topics, at least.

Her sister nodded but said nothing. The gaiety of their initial reunion was gone, ruined by the temptation of the sea. She wished she knew the words to bring it back.

Smee brought them water and a platter of fruits. Luxury indeed. She was no sailor but she was a merchant’s daughter, and she knew how precious citrus was on a sea voyage. He brought over a barrel for Charlotte to sit on and for the next half hour the sisters took luncheon as if nothing was wrong.

They spoke of small things. In her mind's eye, she could see the sand in the hourglass of their time together running out, and she was powerless to stop it. All she could do was listen to herself speak of niceties that got them nowhere, and she thought that Charlotte probably felt the same way. She did not know how to ask Charlotte the question upon her lips; when we get home, how shall we pay off my debts? _I led us on a voyage for gold on a fool's errand and we found nothing but misery. The courage that got us this far will not pay the men at the gambling house._

They would lose the manor, Anna-Maria knew. It hit her like a lightning strike. Unless they came up with something, unless they were very lucky, they would lose their home. All the memories, all the beloved ghosts, gone. They would have to fire the servants, and they would not even be able to afford the dogs any longer. She had had the unsubstantiated notion that the money would just sort of come along if she prayed hard enough, but she saw now that she would need a concrete plan, and very soon, if she were to have a home to go to. She could pretend joy no longer, and fell silent. Sensing the change of her mood, Charlotte did not say another word.

It was almost evening when they were startled by a shrill cry from up in the rigging. “Sails on the horizon!” They looked up just in time to see a little pirate scramble down the mast like a monkey. In no time at all, the man hit the deck, still screaming ‘Sails on the horizon!’

The hornet's nest had been struck. The pirates swarmed up the stairs and soon the deck was filled with dozens of them, whooping and brandishing their cutlasses. Some of them had begun to take bets on who would be the first to kill a man and the rest soon joined in. The two sisters were invisible in all the pandemonium and were tripped over more than once. But if they stood up they would be trampled, and so they stayed put and waited uncomfortably.

All went silent as Captain Hook came striding out of his quarters with his hook raised and a savage grin on his face. From within his coat he pulled out a massive, peculiar telescope and began to scan the horizon with it. She followed his gaze and found that she too could see the ship, though she could make out no details. Still the Captain examined the ship. There was something very predatory about it, and she prayed fervently that the ship would not interest him, and that they would part ways here.

“Well, Captain?” Smee asked cautiously, hopefully. The men waited, leaning forward with open mouths to attend their Captain’s command.  

Captain Hook slammed the telescope shut and looked at his men with a lazy smile, his eyes brimming with laughter. Anna-Maria’s heart filled with pity for the poor ship and all the souls upon it. Their fate was sealed.

“A merchant caravel has strayed into our path. She runs the yellow flag. A gentleman would go to her and offer assistance.”

There was a chorus of laughter from the men. Smee grinned wickedly. “Shall we be gentlemen, Captain?”

“I think we shall, Smee.” The Bosun and his Captain shared a sickly-sweet smile, and then he yelled, “Gunners to your stations! Up those ratlines, dogs! Earn your keep, damn you!”

The crew exploded into motion again as the Captain continued his barrage of orders. A man who looked unsure of himself fell over dead the next instant as a shot split the air. The crew did not take any particular notice of the death of one of their own. Charlotte cried out, hands to her ears.

The Captain snapped his gaze towards them both. He must not have seen them there in all the commotion. “Smee,” The Captain said quietly, appraising the smoking barrel of his gun thoughtfully, “See to it that Miss Charlotte reaches her room safely.”

Anna-Maria would have protested, but Charlotte sent her a Look and so she fell silent. It would be unwise to push the Captain further when he was in such a mood. She had seen with her own eyes that her sister was alive and as well as she could be, that would have to be enough for today. Her guilt was assuaged and the worst of her fears laid to rest.

Two men began to drag away the corpse of the man he had killed. The body left a smear on the deck. The pirate Captain gestured at her sister as Smee led her off. “You see that I am a man of my word, girl?”

“I suppose.” If he expected her to be grateful to him for not killing and torturing her sister, he was sorely mistaken.

He did not look pleased at her short answer. “And are you a woman of yours? Or will you continue to abuse my hospitality and try my patience with your plotting?”

“For as long as you keep your end of the bargain, I will keep mine.” She could not bring herself to say more. Captain Hook looked down at his gun, pondering the weapon with parted lips.

“Then return to your room. This will be no place for a lady. You three,” He pointed at three burly men, “will accompany her. Do not take your eyes off her until the door is locked shut.” She was almost flattered at how threatened he was by her.

And he was threatened, she realised. She had put the fear of God into him with her ink trick. She could not kill him, but she could make him suffer. The Captain was deathly afraid of pain and shame, and she had found it out and used it against him. It brought her comfort to know that as much as he clearly knew some of her weaknesses, she knew some of his.

Just as she was about to be escorted down, the Captain called out to her. “One more thing. Miss Westwood. Have you thought on what I said yesterday?” His cold eyes slid to her in a long sideways glance.

_You know I have. What you do not know is that I would rather spend the rest of my life in a wig half as tall as I am than in your company._

She spoke with a nonchalance she did not feel. “I have.”

His eyes narrowed and he turned his head towards her, just a fraction. He snorted a little in disbelief. “Stow your pride, woman. There will never be a place for you there.” He put away his gun and turned to regard her directly. “Step foot on land without my protection and you would be put in a menagerie before the sun set.”

The sheer casual cruelty of his words took her by surprise but her spirit was as untempered as ever. She had not intended to tell him of her plans, but passion made her speak. She crossed her arms defensively. “I can hide them. Cover them up. No one shall know.” Her pride at her own cleverness dripped from every word that she said.

He cocked his head and pursed his lips in thought. His cold eyes flickered to hers. “You could.” She smirked in triumph. He took a step towards her and continued, “You could. For a few months. A year, perhaps. But what if the things grow? You would be discovered.”

He had seen her deepest fear, snatched it right out of her head. “No.” She whispered. She wanted to take back her words and keep them hidden in her heart, so he could not turn them against her.

He would not be put off. “Oh yes. Sooner or later.”

Her fingers trembled, just a little. “You are mistaken. No one will see them. I will be careful.”

He looked intrigued by that. “Will you, now? Will you be careful all your days? Will there be no-one in your life who can see what you truly are? Will you be alone and concealed forever?”

“I suppose-” She fell silent. “Not alone. No. What does it matter?” But she knew the answer, even as she asked the question. She could hide what she was from the world, but could she hide from the people closest to her? What if her brother came home, could she hide it from him? What about Henry, the man who would have married her? If they, by some miracle, ever saw one another again, could she lie to him about where she had been and what had happened to her? Could she be clever and careful every day, without making a single mistake? She did not think she could. Not forever. Eventually, she would make a mistake. She was only human.

Mostly.

He was thinking along the same lines. “You can hide what you are from strangers, from acquaintances perhaps, but will there be no others in your life? Your sister tells me that you lost your dear father a year or so ago. And something about a man who ran away? William, was it? How sad for you.” Every word was uttered with relish, as if her suffering was delectable to him.

“Do not _dare_ speak of them. You are not fit to even-” She was too angry to continue. If he had been close enough, she would have slapped him, or worse.

He looked at her as if her anger, so deliberately incited, was something shocking. “Oh, but of course. You will want to fill that void now that they are gone, I imagine. You shall need to, if you are to live comfortably. Or would you be content to live your life scandalously unattached, all in the name of secrecy?”

Of course she wanted real companionship. Who didn’t? She lied outright, too proud to acknowledge to his face that he was right. “No. If I have my sister and some money, that will be enough.”

He did not believe her for a moment. “Will it? Such a wild creature as you, live out the days of her life in solitude? I think not.” His smile grew and he held a finger to his lips in feigned consideration. “Perhaps you and your conniving sister could ensnare a man each back on land, have you thought of that, little snake? Perhaps you will convince him to wed you, despite your poverty, and lend you some modicum of decency and fortune. Perhaps he will even fall in love with you. But one day-”

She would not cede victory to him. “No.” But she could see it. The ship and all its crew was gone from her sight, her vision narrowed until all she could see was the dreadful Captain and the vision he painted of her future. Even the Beasts in her mind fell silent.

“Yes. How shall he discover you?” His voice was utterly captivating as he came towards her, every step a calculated prowl. “Perhaps whatever cloak you hide yourself in shall slip in the night while he lies beside you. No? Or perhaps, flamed with passion, he shall entwine his hands in your lovely hair and…” There was a hint of pity in his voice now, and she hated that most of all. He stood before her, eyes intent. He could have reached out and touched her. “It shall all be taken from you. Everything you own will be his when he marries you, of course. Any children you bear him will be his. He will divorce you. Your children taken from you. You will be thrown into the streets.”

She was trembling from his proximity and dread alike. Not dread of him, but of her future. She could see herself so clearly, a tragic figure devoid of husband, or status, money, and children. She knew how society treated such people. She could not bear that.

He kept on, transfixed by his own story, “Any match your sister makes shall do the same to her as soon as you are found out. No-one will want associate themselves with either of you, and how she will hate you for it. Do you know what it is to be alone, girl? You will know then. You will be infamous, too, and _that_ is the worst kind of loneliness. Whether or not it is a man called Husband who discovers you, or a bosom friend, or your own children, it does not matter. The end of the story is always the same. You will be hated and reviled by even beggars, for even beggars will not be so pitiful as you. You will have _nothing._ You will be _nothing._ Every day will be a cage of your own making.” He raised his arm and extended the curve of his hook towards her cheek. She flinched back from him. His eyes grew colder still and his jaw set.

Speaking took herculean effort. She felt so terribly cold. “Why are you so cruel?”

“Do you think it cruel to speak the truth? That is what waits for you on land, if you let your pride and stubbornness have their way. Sooner or later, it would all end in tears. I’d bet my ship on it. Bare your fangs at me all you like, woman. Your happiness would not last a year, and you would doom your precious sister too. Your life would be a tragedy, and you will live a long time, let me assure you.”

Black eyes burned into blue. If she moved, she would have tried to kill him again and broken their accord, so she stayed deadly still as she forced down her rage. And she knew that if she spoke, she would lose her temper beyond all ability to regain it.

So she turned her head and walked away, knowing her feet would guide her to her room as the pirates shadowed her every step. Her vision was blurred with red rage and despair. They did not say a word to her. She was glad of it as they shut her door behind her and the heavy lock turned.

As the Jolly Roger leapt after her prey, she heard the sound of pirate song. A prayer for violence, carried on the winds.

_Go down, ye blood red roses,_

_Go down!_


	9. Beasts Above, Beasts Below

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please listen to this song while you read, if possible. The pacing may a bit off because it is so long, but the vibe is perfect. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NzzGWfPI2YU

 

 

When she was alone, she pressed her hands to the side of her head and squeezed for a long time. She pressed at her skull as if it could force the Captain's words out of her mind. Damn him.  _Damn him._ He had won again. Whenever she thought she had the upper hand, he dashed her hopes to smithereens right in front of her.

If she could have her wish again, she would wish that she and her sister stayed hidden on the island all their lives and died without laying eyes upon this wretched ship and its Captain. Better yet, she would wish that they had never left England in the first place. Poverty would have been better than this, if she and her sister still had each other.

It would have to be. To marry was too great a risk, he was right about that, so she put that dream away. It hurt, but she would rather be unwed than be a laughing stock. She was too proud for that. She could live her life a spinster if she had to. It would be shameful and very lonely, but better to grieve for a husband and children that could never be, then to have it all and lose it. Close friends too were unlikely for one such as her. Every kind of close association brought too many risks, too many opportunities for her nature to be revealed. And when that happened, the shame would not just come down upon her. It would come down upon Charlotte too, and anyone who knew them.

And that was what it all came down to, in the end. Could she really be selfish enough to risk her sister being condemned to poverty and misery because she could not bear to be on this ship?

She thought of the way the Captain had spoken to her, and thought that yes, she might be selfish enough to risk it all, if only to be away from him. Perhaps.

She realised with a start that she could think her own thoughts uninterrupted. Her mind felt so empty, she could almost hear an echo in it. She looked out into the sea from her little window, cautiously at first, then more boldly as she felt that the monsters were not looking at her. Their attention was fixed elsewhere for the first time since the brig. What could intrigue them so much? Had some unfortunate fish or bird caught their eyes?

Hours passed. Dread was heavy within her. She feared for the other ship terribly. She prayed that it could outrun the Jolly Roger, but knew that it would not. Something about the Captain's face when he had barked his orders to the crew had made it clear; he had no doubts that he could catch up to them. She was living proof that when the Captain wanted something, he would get it. It was just a matter of time.

She peered out the window again and could see nothing save the waves and the first stars softly shining. She could not see the merchant ship from her window and she was selfishly glad of it. She did not want to see the ship go down.

As night fell, the Jolly Roger caught up with her prey and the cannon began its cacophonous song. It drowned out the sound of the world. She had never heard cannonfire before, but the noise could not be mistaken for anything else. At first it was just one cannon calling out, Long Tom, perhaps? Then more joined in. And more. Was the other ship putting up a fight? She huddled on the floor with her hands over her head until the ear-splitting sound faded. Was it over? They must have blasted the ship to pieces.

She could hear gunfire now, round after round of it. Her heart swelled, with pity, yes, but also admiration. How could the men of the merchant vessel be so brave? How were they still alive, surely the ship had gone down by now?

She blinked and her vision was gone.

_All was dark. Dark but it did not matter because she could smell everything. So much._

She blinked again and she was back in her dressing room. The room was back, with all its trunks and shadows flung by the rising moon. What had happened to her? She looked about her, lowering her hands from her ears. It was over now, whatever it was. She took in a cautious breath. Could it simply be the stress of all that had happened? But she had never lost hold of her sanity before, not matter how bad things had been. She licked her lips nervously, waiting.

And lost the room. Lost herself.

_She could smell fear. And blood. Sweet blood in the water. The roiling ocean buzzed with the movements of prey within it. And the movements of her brothers-and-sisters. So hungry. All of them._

She scrambled for purchase but fell off the trunk and landed heavily on her back, cracking her head against the floor. It did not hurt as much as it should have. She looked up at the ceiling with wide eyes. What was happening? Where was her vision going?

"Is anyone there?" She breathed. Her body was so heavy and the air felt like soup. She thought that if she moved her hand in front of her, she might see the air billow about her fingertips. Everything felt wrong. "Can anyone hear-"

_Many many. The water was cold, cold, but we followed. Sun flashing up above, sky shouting. Now food is here, and we will feast._

She was very frightened now. What she was seeing, what she was feeling and thinking, could not be real, she tried to hold onto that. She was in her dressing room, as safe as she could be, not beneath the waters. But it was all so real.

_Sisters feasting on her right, so quick so sure. So much meat._

She turned to her belly, moving was so hard when this body did not feel like her own. Her mind had gone below. The beast. The mind of the Beast. It was so so strong. Beyond hope of resistance. She was falling down into it. "Please. Please. Someone help me. I am losing, I am losing- My mind. Please." Was she speaking aloud? She could not hear her own voice.

_She could feel one close to her. A brother wanted it, but she warned him off. This one was for her. How she wanted it. She would swallow it whole._

_Men-things were so helpless in the water. Even the littlest fish could swim faster. With barely a flick of her fin, she cut through the water and was there below it. She was sleek and strong. The man-thing was not. She stretched her maw wide for it._

Oh God. Oh God in Heaven. No. She did not want to. She did not want to feel it. "No. No no  _nononono_." She could not hear anything. She only knew that she was screaming because her throat hurt so badly, and even that pain was becoming more distant by the moment.

_Mine mine mine. She fixed her jaws around a chunk of sweet flesh as it kicked at her. Her rows of teeth shredded through the meat and down in went. Heaven. The man-thing kept kicking. The water sang of its screams. She swam around him lazily, and opened her jaws again._

She did not hear the door open. She could not see or hear. All was blackness. She screamed and kept screaming. She did not feel the pirates shake her and ask her what was wrong, or try to hush her wailing. All she knew was the taste of man-flesh and the retching agony of her disgust warring with the joy of the beast.

The darkness seized around her, banishing the world, and she saw through the eyes of another beast.

_Yes yes yes. So easy. Prey enough for days. Prey falling from the sky and into his place. He looked into the eyes of the man-thing as it passed. The taste of fear was so strong. It made him hungrier. It made him eager. The man-thing was small. Not enough. He passed again and took it up to its chest in his mouth. He bit down and swallowed._

The taste of blood was in her mouth. She knew what human beings tasted like. She knew what children tasted like. She crashed her head against the floor as the pirates struggled to keep her still. She did not know that they wanted to stop her from harming herself. She did not know they were there; it was the visions she was fighting. She writhed and threw them off her and they flew into the wall as she waged war for possession of her soul.

_Blood blood blood in the water. Sweet thrashing. Such fulfilment. To feast without end. Follow the men-things, and there will be food for always._

Her screams became a frail keening. She wanted it to stop. She needed it to stop. Her soul was not her own. Her mind was not her own. The visions went on and she kicked through the wall. She had not meant to stand. Still she was blind and deaf to all but the gorging in the water.

She fought with tooth and nail just to stop herself from merging with the invaders completely. She was losing.

She fought to remember her own name. She had lost.

 

* * *

 

Captain James Hook's ears were keener than those of a mortal man and he knew the screams belonged to Anna-Maria Westwood, the one person aboard this ship he could neither kill nor allow to come to harm. For a while, Hook ignored the noise and bent his will to shooting the men aboard the caravel. He had not had such a pleasant evening in ages. The men of the enemy ship were not the gutless cowards he had assumed they would be, and they had good shots among them. One man in particular had caught his eye; an officer who had shot down three of his dogs during boarding. He had backbone and no small amount of skill. Hook liked that. He lined him up in his sights, watched him for a moment, held his breath, and shot. The officer fell down dead. Marvelous. Hook laughed with genuine delight, and the crew laughed with him.

But the noise below decks went on and on and snapped him right out of his good mood. What the devil was she screaming for? It had been going on for too long to be one of her night terrors. He would have to go and see what the fuss was all about. He sighed and tossed aside his rifle for Smee to catch. He had work to do.

He had told the men from the very beginning that if they laid hands on his prisoners, now guests, they would die for it. Not out of sentiment, but out of sheer possessiveness. The sisters were his to enjoy. He had never liked it when lesser men touched his rivals. And since the cunning one had made him swear on Eton, the one thing that could tempt him to keep his word, his hands were tied. If the dogs had harmed her while he was busy pillaging, he would be honour-bound to flay them. He drew his pistol. Could a man not even enjoy a spot of piracy without being betrayed by a subordinate? It would not do.

When he pushed open the dressing room door what he saw cast a shadow of fear even on his proud heart.

The room had been decimated. There were holes in the walls and clothes strewn everywhere. Her three guards, seasoned buccaneers all, were dead or unconscious on the floor around her, and Anna-Maria was thrashing at the air at invisible foes. She did not appear to be injured, not physically at least. The tentacles on her head were writhing like snakes, her black eyes were wide but unseeing as she screamed fit to wake the dead.

He frowned. Blast. The woman had gone mad. Had he been a little too blunt earlier with his warning? He felt something stirring that another man might have recognised as guilt, but what he dismissed as indigestion. Anna-Maria carried on with her screeching and he winced. He was very tempted to leave her to it, but if he had to listen to her screaming all night it would be impossible to relish his looting. How, then, to silence her?

Could he throw her overboard? No. He would not put it past her to climb right up the hull of the ship to get him, tenacious creature that she was. Shooting or stabbing her would shut her up, but it could also kill her and as much as he did not like it, he would miss her if he killed her. He had grown rather fond of having a woman aboard the ship again, even if, as Wendy had before her, Anna-Maria did nothing but spurn his good will and try to defeat him. Perhaps he liked having women aboard for that exact reason. Heroines had so much spirit. This particular heroine was beautiful and one of his own kind, which helped her case. Not only that, but she was courageous and resourceful and that made her company quite amiable to him, for all her hissing and biting.

Nonetheless, the easier path would be to shoot her and hope for the best, but it occurred to him that shooting an unarmed woman in a state of hysteria was probably very bad form. He tutted to himself. That settled it. He put his pistol away with a sigh and shut the door, locking it behind him. It would not hold her for long if she wanted to get out, of course, but he did not think she could even see the door. Certainly she had not seen him.

As he set off through his ship, he remembered a time when he had been as mad as Anna-Maria was now. Granted, it had been after three nights of drinking whiskey in Port Royal with Blackbeard, but the principle was the same. There had been only one cure for that, and it seemed likely that the same thing would work for her. Probably. If need be, he could talk his way out of trouble if he could swear, hook on heart, that he had done it for her own good.

He reached the armoury in good time. He tore through the room, rejecting blunderbusses, cutlasses, pistols, and all delicious manner of weaponry in search for what he needed.

Ah, there! Unused and unloved in the corner was an old blowpipe. He had stolen it from a savage tribe years ago. He snatched it and the little box of darts up with a wicked smile. He had not had the chance to use it for decades. He had meant to use it against Pan so long ago, but after the brat had cut off his hand it became an impractical weapon to use, particularly against such a sprightly opponent. Against a woman so unaware of her surroundings, it would do very nicely. There was enough venom on the darts to kill a herd of elephants. A few hours sleep would set her to rights and she would be back to her usual vicious, but sane, self by morning. Perhaps she would even see fit to thank him for his efforts on her behalf. He smiled at the idea.

All thoughts of the languishing caravel were gone from his mind as he ran to the dressing room with the blowpipe over his shoulder. Loading the damn thing was slow going with only one hand, and he spared a moment, as he so often did, to curse the callous child who had crippled him. He did not often miss his old hand, but he resented how clumsy its loss made him at times. When he had it ready, he kicked open the door, blowpipe raised to his lips, steadying the shaft in the curve of his hook.

Anna-Maria knelt in the center of the dark room, her hands pressed to her head. She had stopped screaming and was moaning piteously. The heaving tentacles were bone-white now. He remembered uneasily how they had been tar-black when she had maimed his man and when she had poisoned his wine. There was an air to her that he had never seen on her, something primitive and unknowable. In his eyes, she blazed like a beacon in the moonlit night. He hesitated for just a moment, entranced by the sight of her.

She had regained enough mastery of speech to babble, "Please stop. Stop it, please God, not another one, no more, no…" He knew she was not talking to him. But the room was empty, he was sure of it, save for the bodies of his dogs, who had not moved. She lurched upright and pulled at her hair with shaking hands. She was keening, and it was such a soft and broken sound that it moved even him.

He was a cruel and mostly heartless man, he had enough sense of self to know that. But she was not his enemy. In fact she was the closest thing he had to a peer aboard the ship, and so he felt more than a little empathy for her. Besides, putting her out of her misery would be the gentlemanly thing to do.

He drew in a sharp breath and exhaled with force. The little dart struck her high on her chest. There. That should do it. He smiled proudly. She would sleep, and he could go back to his entertainment. Perhaps the crew, in their endless incompetence, had failed to kill all the merchant-sailors and he could have at them-

Or not. Her head snapped up and she looked straight at him. His smiled died at the look in her eyes. So dark and filled with empty hunger, like the void between the stars. She opened her mouth at him and took a single step forward.

And just like that, Captain James Hook was prey once more.

 _Blast it, venom, work! Drop her!_  He knew that if she caught him, she would try to swallow him whole.

He could not take his eyes off of her. Stalling for time, he crooned to her in his kindest voice, the one he had used on Wendy Darling with such success, "Now now, you wouldn't want to eat your rescuer, would you, girl? That would be most ungrateful, don't you think?" Those terrible eyes drank him in and he felt the keen edge of panic cut into him, "Why don't you just lie down, rest your weary-"

She took a predatory step forward and her hunger pierced him from across the room. By Napoleon, he was about to be eaten by an unarmed woman. He backed into the corridor, grappling for his rapier. His good hand shook and clutched ineffectually for the hilt like a novice. Not since Neverland had he known such crippling fear.

Then she swayed and the vitality left her eyes. The tentacles on her head went limp and she seemed to physically shrink. The change in her was astounding. She became herself again.

"The beasts. The beasts below. They follow. Always hungry. Always." She slurred the words but he could understand her clearly.

Hook was struck dumb for a moment. "What?" She could not mean- could she?

She fell like a stone. He was already moving and caught her. He propped her lolling head up with the flat side of his hook. "Woman, Anna-Maria, what is this talk of beasts? Curse you, is it the crocodile?" If it was, he would go as mad as she was. Could it be? Could the creature have followed him even after death? There was no ticking, no sound aside from gunfire and the lovely screams of the dying. But what if the clock had wound down? It could have snuck up on him!

He shook her hard as he looked up and out the window, half expecting to see an immense reptilian silhouette against the moon. There was nothing. "Woman, have you seen the crocodile? Tell me, or I'll-"

His threat died in his throat as her eyes rolled up and her body went slack in his arm. One word rested upon her red lips. He caught it with wonder.

"Sharks."

The dart had done its work at last. She lay as still as a corpse.

He looked about the devastated room, lit by the light of the crescent moon. Fear drained out of him and his ego recovered in an instant. Thank Lucifer for that. For a dreadful moment, he had thought the crocodile of his nightmares had swum up the River Styx to taste him once more. He sighed with relief as he set the girl down gently on the floor. She was deeply asleep and would be until morning, most likely.

His laughter echoed through the dressing room. "Sharks? Is that all?"

 

* * *

 

He did not know it then, but it was on that night of bloodshed and despair that the first embers of longing for Anna-Maria kindled in Hook's heart.

That may seem bizarre, given their history and his previous abuse of her, but Hook was a very lonely man. Loneliness is a terrible affliction for a man who has convinced himself that he is superior to all others. Who could fill his life with meaning when he had so ostracised himself from his fellow men? That chanting accusation, 'Old, Alone, Done for!' that had been the death of him had never quite left his ears.

It had only gotten worse since Neverland. With no purpose, no vendettas to avenge and in a world with only the barest bit of magic in it, his life had become stagnant and he had begun to decay. But Hook could not give up on life, being too much of a coward to face death, and so he tried, in his own way, to find people who were worth his time.

Hook no more wanted to live alone than he wanted to die alone, and Anna-Maria had caught his attention with her machinations against him. Not only that, but in drinking from the well and turning herself into a monster, she had made herself extra-ordinary, and that intrigued him, even delighted him. After all, what use was a normal woman to him when he had spent untold years with mermaids, fairies and flying children? Hook desired companionship with one who he could respect, and though at this time he did not really love her, he had begun to respect and even desire her. She was not his equal in strength or wit, it was true, but looking at her then, adorned by the light of the moon and lying in the blood of his dead pirates, he thought that she would do very nicely indeed.

 

* * *

 

Anna-Maria woke to the dreadful pain in her head, and she knew the abominations were growing again. She cried out once in pain and despair, and fled back into sleep. She did not dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter, I sure enjoyed writing it!


	10. I, Cannibal

 

It was days before she woke again. She lay as weak as a newborn babe after the waking nightmare of the sharks frenzy and the growth of her deformity. Her head pulsed with a weeping pain from her crown to the nape of her neck. The intensity of it almost forced her into sleep again, but she fought to remain conscious. She pushed her pain to the side. It was very bad, but not as bad as it had been in the brig. Perhaps they had only grown a little. She focused on what she could do right now. She could not open her eyes, could not move at all, but she could hear...

She could hear voices, but she could not turn her head to look at the speakers. She could do nothing but lie there. Then, she felt a wonderful cool feeling upon her forehead. She would have smiled if she had the strength. It gently dabbed at her scalp and eased away some of her pain. A wet cloth? It was so cold, it sent shivers through her whole body. She sighed in delight. The effort of that sent her to sleep again, even as her attendants began to call out, ‘She’s awake, she’s awake!’

 

* * *

 

 

When she opened her eyes for the first time, she saw only sunlight and the ceiling above her. Every inch of her body weighed a tonne. She was sore from head to toe and her skull was stuffed with cotton. She blinked blearily. She could not move her head, but she knew she was in her dressing room. She recognised the feeling of sleeping on a trunk anywhere.

“Lady Anna! You’re awake, finally! We were beginning to worry.” A gentle laugh.

Who was speaking? Oh, it was Smee. It must be him. She knew his voice. She wanted to tell him not to call her that, only her sister ever called her Anna, and it was very familiar of him to do it, but she could only croak.

“George, go tell Miss Westwood that her sister is awake. Then go ask the Captain if she can visit, she’ll want to come. Can you stay awake that long?” This last was directed at her. She heard the door slam shut. She was very glad he was here. No other pirate could love her after her attempt at mutiny. He must have been the one who bathed her head. She blessed the man, even if he was overly familiar.

She opened her eyes. A spasm of pain struck her scalp and she groaned.

Smee gave her what he probably thought was a doctorly look. “What is it, child? Are you in pain? We’ve been giving you opium to ease it, at the Captain’s orders. Do you need more?”

They had been giving her opium? She knew little about the stuff, only that it came from distant China and was highly lauded by both the rich and the poor alike, but she had never been had cause to have it before now. She did not feel much different, only that her thoughts felt sluggish and her head did not hurt as much as it should have. It did not seem right that anyone should ease her pain. If pain could drive her down into dreamless sleep again, she would welcome it. Anything to spare her the knowledge of what she had done.

“Oh, Smee.” A tear trickled down her face. “Smee, I- I ate people. I ate-” She could not finish it. She could not bring herself to say that she had eaten a child. More than one child. Her mind spun with horror as she remembered it. How they had screamed, how they had struggled in her mouth. Her gorge rose and Smee must have known, for he propped her upright with her head in a bucket as she was violently ill. When she was done, he dabbed at her mouth and handed the bucket to a pirate who gave him an evil look but disappeared out the door with it.

“Now, Lady Anna.” His voice sounded a little cross but very kind. “You did no such thing. You have not eaten in days, and that was only a fruit platter.”

His efforts to comfort her were so sweet that she sobbed harder. He did not know he was comforting a monster. “You don’t understand. I ate them. The crew of the merchant ship. I was in the water. The sharks-”

He made a noise of disbelief, but there was no reproach in it. Only kindness. “You were in your room the whole battle. Do you think you could have crawled out the window? You are very small, but not that small, Lady.”

“I saw it. I was there. I-” She noticed the state of the room for the first time. There were holes and cracks in the wood of the walls, and what looked very much like an old bloodstain hastily cleaned up on the floor. “I think I might have done that too.” What exactly had been going on with her real body while she swam and hunted beneath the waves?

“Silly chit, you were-” he paused. “Delirious. That’s all it was. It must have been very frightening. I once knew a man who would get that way when he heard cannonfire. Said he could see soldiers that weren’t there. You must have thought you were somewhere else. Though it could just be the opium talking, Lady, to tell you the truth. The Captain made us give you so much of it, I thought you might not wake up.”

She shook her head weakly but he just kept consoling her. He did not understand what was happening to her, but it wasn’t his fault. He was only trying to help. She knew how ridiculous it must sound to him. And what good would it do if he did know? If anything, the fewer people knew, the better.

She closed her eyes and gathered herself. What exactly had happened? Had she thrown something at the wall when she was being possessed? Surely not all of that blood could have come from her head? She had no memories of it, but she was afraid to ask. The last thing she could clearly recall was asking if anyone was in the room with her. After that, it was all a blur of darkness and a mad scramble to hold onto herself. She must have fainted when the pain started. Oddly, she was grateful for it. She would take the pain of tentacle growth over being forced to watch and taste men being eaten alive. “How long have I been asleep?”

“A week, Lady. We could not get you to drink or eat. You had a high fever for the first day or so. You cried out in pain, once. Your sister was worried for you. Said something about how you had been this way before?”

“The brig. I thought I was dying. We both did.” Should she ask him how long the tentacles had grown? Were they beyond concealment? She did not think she was strong enough to bear bad news, so she did not ask. She would deal with that later.

He harrumphed in disapproval. “Terrible business, that.” That was as close to disavowing his Captain’s behaviour as he would ever get, she thought.

After a few minutes of sitting quietly as Smee went on, she felt a little stronger. “Is there anything to eat?”

Smee laughed, “See? You’re feeling better already.” He reached down and produced a bowl of soup. He raised a spoon to her lips. “Here, Lady Anna, eat up.” Her stomach warbled it’s anticipation, but when she looked at the floating chunks of meat her vision shuttered. She saw bodies in the water. Tasted the tang of salt water and blood on her lips. Her stomach convulsed and she clasped her hands to her mouth with a groan.

Smee looked offended for a moment and withdrew the spoon. “Cook made this for you ‘specially, you know. Said it’s good for sick people. If you don’t eat it he’ll be insulted, and it’s not wise to insult Cook.”

She shook her head and shut her eyes. The sight of the meat was repulsive to her when all she could think about was the horror of her visions. “Please put it away, Smee. Please.”

He looked at her for a moment, then understanding dawned in his eyes and put the bowl down. “No matter, I can get you something else if it’s not to your liking. How about some more fruit?” She shook her head. Her appetite was gone. Smee looked ready to protest when the door opened and Charlotte breezed in, head held high and blatantly ignoring the pirates around her.

“Smee,” Charlotte’s voice was warm but her mouth had the pinched look that Anna-Maria knew meant trouble for whoever stood in her way, “Your Captain has been so gracious as to permit me a moment alone with my younger sister.”

Smee shared a look with the other pirates, who nodded reluctantly. “Aye, m’lady. I’ll get you some fruit.” And just like that, the sisters were alone.

Charlotte was dressed in boys clothes still, a long coat and trousers. Her hair was knotted high upon her head. Her costume suited her almost as well as ball gowns did.

“I have been meaning to have words with you for days, but you have been ill.” Her voice was almost accusatory.

Anna-Maria frowned. That had hardly been her fault. “I’ve been…” What could she say, that she had been growing like an insect in chrysalis? There were no words for it. To say nothing of the visions, which she knew Charlotte did not believe. “The same as I was in the brig.” She finished lamely.

Charlotte sniffed. “Well, it cannot be helped, but time is precious to us now. We will make landfall in a few days. A week at most.”

It was such good news that she beamed, despite everything. “Thank God. It is nearly over. Do you really think he will let us leave?” And whether or not the Captain permitted it she would go ashore, that was no longer in question.

She knew that it was the wrong choice, but she found that she did not care. She was weak, and tired, and in pain, and she wanted to go home. She wanted to see her dogs, she wanted to see Henry, and she wanted more than anything to be away from the sea and in her own country. She wanted to sleep in her mothers greenhouse, and sit by Father’s grave, and come back to herself. She could be selfish, if that was what it took to take her away from this nightmare and save her sanity and her soul.   

The Captain might try to stop her, she knew that. He had gone out of his way to convince her to stay aboard, though for what purpose she could not guess. What the Captain did not know that she could swim better than most, and could breathe underwater too. If she had to, once Charlotte went ashore she would throw herself overboard and swim to the docks. And if he tried to drag her off, so much the better, she would scream and he would be put in a prison cell, where he belonged. One way or the other, she would win and she would have her freedom.

“Well, that’s the thing I had been wanting to discuss with you…” Charlotte trailed off and looked down at her hands for a moment. “The Captain and I have been talking.”

In a flash, she understood. Charlotte was feeling guilty for having revealed their situation to the Captain. With a strength she did not know she possessed, she reached out and clasped Charlotte’s delicate hand in her own. She smiled up at her gently. “Don’t concern yourself with that. You were in the brig for days, and he can be… persuasive.” Persuasive was one word for it. He was a deceiver of a caliber she had never seen; a man who could spin a beguilement around you even if you could see right through him. She did not blame Charlotte whatsoever for being taken in by his tricks, not after he had brought her close to breaking more than once with a casual word.

Charlotte frowned. “Indeed he can be, but what are you referring to, exactly?”

“You told him our real names and about our fortune, or lack thereof. I do not hold you accountable for it.” She gave her sisters hand a little squeeze. She had never seen Charlotte look guilty before. Her heart squeezed in sympathy. It must have been very hard for her, alone in the brig all this time. “I am only sorry I did not get you out of there sooner. Speaking of our fortune, we should really talk about what we should do.”

Charlotte straightened. “Yes, that is what I have been meaning to discuss. I can see only one solution for our predicament. There is still the matter of your debts to repay, and since we have found no other source of income, we shall have to do what we must to ensure our future.”

She had to agree. “There’s nothing else for it. Without knowing where our brother is, the banks won’t release his share of the inheritance to us, even though we know he doesn’t want it. The law is the law, and all that. If we do not act, we will be penniless. We could face destitution.”

Her sister gave her a look of appreciation. “I see.” Charlotte said slowly. “So you have thought it through. I must admit I am... surprised. Pleasantly so. You were always quite stubborn on this subject. So wrapped up in your dreams that a solution would come from somewhere at the last minute.”

“If there is anything this ordeal has taught me, sister, it is that we must solve our problems ourselves.”

Charlotte looked openly relieved. “Well, that settles it.”

“Yes, I’m afraid so.” She sighed heavily. “We can put it off no longer. The house in Cornwall is the only asset we have, so we must sell it while we wait for word of William. That will satisfy the men from the gambling house, including any interest the scoundrels demand too, and-”

“Anna-Maria.”

The mood in the room had changed. There was a tension about it. “What-”

“Stop. Be quiet.” Her sister spoke in a voice low and thrumming.

She fell silent. Charlotte was white as a sheet as she looked around the room in helpless outrage, as if to meet her eyes would undo her. Slowly, her sister sat herself down on a trunk and looked at her very seriously for a long time. Every time Anna-Maria tried to speak, Charlotte would hold up a hand and she would think better of it. Charlotte took several deep breaths.

“You think to sell the house.” Her tone was flat.

Anna-Maria looked at her in open bewilderment. What was this all about? “Why, we must. It is all we have, without our brothers consent. You told me Father left it explicitly to us, in the will, in such a way that no-one could get at it but us. You told me that.”

“I did.”

“Then what is the problem? Have I forgotten something? But there is nothing else-”

“Anna-Maria.” She had never seen her sister so angry. Not ever. She drew back from her in fear at the wrath in those hazel eyes. “You have forgotten that Mother was sent to that house for her confinement. You have forgotten that you were born in that house.” Charlotte’s rage shook her like a leaf in a gale. “You have forgotten that Mother _died_ there.”

Anna-Maria still did not understand. “We are her daughters. Mother would not want us to starve.”

As soon as she said it, she knew it had been the wrong thing to say, even if she didn’t know why.

Charlotte shot to her feet and spat out, “You do not know what she would want, because you never knew her.”

The words struck her like a slap. She was shocked into stillness. She had not a word to say in her defense. She never did, on the subject of Mother. Charlotte only spoke the truth. It did not make it less painful.

Charlotte railed on, so caught up in her anger that she had no care for how loud she was. “How can you be so selfish? How can you think to sell the last place she drew breath in, the place she gave you life in, purely to settle your debts? How can you be so thoughtless?”

Tears were pooling in her eyes. “I-”

“No. Stop. Listen to me very closely, Anna.” With a visible effort, Charlotte forced down her rage and collected herself. “We have tried it your way. We tried to find money elsewhere. I was willing to scrape and beg before an uncle we had never met to put right your mistakes. And what happened? One storm after another, until we had to abandon ship, and now this. I have been kidnapped, tormented and debased for your weakness!” Charlotte shook her head hopelessly. “I love you, God help me. I cannot hate you, despite everything. I cannot help it. You are my flesh and blood and Father would want me to protect you. But I have tried, so hard, for years. I cannot let you take another thing from me. I love you, Anna. But I will not let you do it. You will not sell Mother’s house.”

Anna-Maria had known it all, even heard it all, before. From servants, from William, from Charlotte. But never all at once. She had not heard it screamed at her, and she had never been as vulnerable as she was now. Her sister’s words lashed her exhausted soul like a whip.

Charlotte was still going, “-take some responsibility. It is your debt. You should be the one to pay for it.”

“I’ll sell everything I have…” It sounded weak, even to her. Not to mention illegal. Her possessions were not even truly her own until the lawyers said they were. Under English law, the lion’s share of everything went to their brother, the eldest child and only surviving son of the family. The property in Cornwall was theirs, Father had been clear on that, but the ships, the goods, the manor and everything in it was his. Down to the last article of clothing. They had only not been forced to leave their home because William had run off years ago and no one could find him to read the will to him.

Charlotte saw right through it. “You have nothing to sell, and even if you did, it would not cover the debts.”

“I can borrow. I can borrow enough to pay off-”

With that one sentence, her sister flew back into incandescence again, and Anna-Maria feared she might try to strangle her. “Borrow money? No, you will NOT make this worse. I will not allow it.”

How could she appease her? How could she stop Charlotte from looking at her like that? Submissively, she said, “What do you want me to do? How can I make this right?”

“Captain Hook has offered to pay our debts.”

A terrible sense of doom struck her. “What?”

“He will pay it off. As a sort of investment in the family.”

“And what exactly would prompt such an act of kindness?” Her tone was so full of condescension and disbelief that it shocked the both of them. Anna-Maria felt her cheeks flush with shame. “I did not mean to say… I am sure you have thought of that.”

Charlotte gave her a scathing look that told her exactly what she thought of her apology. “Captain Hook did it because I have asked him to. I have spent days negotiating it all with him. He has such a lot of money that he has no immediate need of it all. He is even willing to give me a loan, to be repaid at a reasonable interest rate, to help with expenses while we wait for the bank to release Father’s money to us.”

The whole thing was so obviously wrong that she did not know where to begin. “The Captain. Of this ship. Is going to pay off my debt, and help us keep the manor up and running. As an investment? For a small interest rate?”

“Yes. We have been quite fortunate. He is very ashamed of his initial behaviour towards us, you know. He has assured me that he wants to make up for it, and the money for your debts is his way of apologising for everything. You will not be grateful, I see that now, but for the sake of your good name, I have not told him where the debts originated from.”

Anna-Maria could not believe what she was hearing. The Captain, ashamed of himself? Could Charlotte, sensible, clever Charlotte, be so deceived?

She frowned, trying to make sense of it. It had begun in the brig, but she had thought Charlotte had broken free of the charm she had been placed under. She had assumed she must have. But she knew that the Captain could wear a mask of gentility if it pleased him, and it seemed her sister had been won over by it. How to untangle her from his web? “Charlotte, he is a wicked, cruel murderer and a thief, and a pirate, and he locked us both in a cell for weeks. He threatened to have me keelhauled, remember? These are not the acts of a good samaritan. He does not want to help us, he never has!”

Charlotte heard her, but did not listen. “I do remember what Captain Hook has done. But he says he has turned over a new leaf. You must admit that he has been quite accommodating these past few days. Not only that, but he has decided to offer you asylum. It seems he is quite taken with you. You do not have any regard for him at all, I know, but still you should accept his offer. It may be the best one you will ever have.”

Anna-Maria closed her eyes and clenched her fists as hard as she could. She could not breathe. Rage dried the tears from her eyes. She felt so brittle that she would break under the slightest pressure.

He had done it again. Unbelievable. The Captain had sunk the claws of his intellect deep indeed. She could see his ploy like it was written in the air around her.  Since she had refused to bow to his insistence that she remain aboard, the villain had gone through her sister instead.

Apparently, it had worked.

“And why would he need to offer me asylum, sister?” She knew the answer. Why did she have to ask? But she had to hear it.

“Because you can’t come back to England, Anna.” Charlotte’s steel showed as she uttered the horrible words. “You aren’t well. Your… you know. You can’t come back home.”

Anna-Maria’s fortitude shattered. Her anger, her bitterness, her disappointment, it would all choke her. Her mouth was thick with it.

“I am your sister, for God’s sake! You cannot leave me here, with these pirates. With him. You can’t.” Her voice was raised and trembling. She was losing control. She could understand what had happened, she could even understand why, but she could not accept it.

 _How had he done it?_ How had he found the words to persuade her sister when she, who had known her all her life, had never been able to persuade her of anything? This went beyond mere cunning.

Charlotte seemed confused by her refusal. “Anna, this is for the best. What do you think will happen if you come home? Do you know what people will say of us? Do you think anyone would do business with us, even if we could get the fortune? We would be _laughed at._ ” Charlotte’s lips twisted, and Anna-Maria knew that it was over.

Charlotte did not notice. “And it is not only your mutation. It is everything else, too. When you go back into society, the gambling will start. You would not be able to help yourself. You would drag us down to poverty with you again, and I will not stand for it.”

The room rang in the aftermath. Charlotte looked abashed. “It is not that I don’t have pity for your situation, I do. But the Captain has sworn to allow no harm to come to you. He will pay for your upkeep and give you a generous stipend. You cannot come ashore without bringing ruin down on us, so you must stay here. This is how you can fix things, Anna. By staying away. At least until you’re… better.”

Anna-Maria could not say a word. She clasped her hands on her lap and was quiet. She might have looked calm, but she did not feel it. The rage, betrayal, desperation, all of it boiled beneath the surface. She could not give voice to any of it. She did not respond to Charlotte’s leaving the room, or to anything Smee said when he came in shortly after. When he tried to offer her food and water, she simply laid down, closed her eyes and ignored him until he went away.

Anna-Maria knew that she was not innocent in all this. She had sealed her own fate the moment she had suggested selling mother’s house. That had been stupid, possibly the most stupid thing she had ever done. How the Captain would have laughed to see her dig her own grave. Hadn’t he even said that Charlotte would rather die than sell the house on the day he had told her of the well? Apparently her sister would rather sell her than lose it, too. Even if she understood her reasons, she was hurt, grievously so.

The truth of it was that the Captain could never have forced her sister to forsake her. Yes, perhaps he had put the idea of it in her head, but he was not so clever as to manipulate Charlotte into doing something she had no desire whatsoever to do. A man could not talk the sun out of the sky. This had been Charlotte’s choice. Anna-Maria had been wilfully betrayed. She could not say she was shocked that her sister would sell her off to pay her debts, though Charlotte would not see it that way, of course. She would see the Captain’s ‘offer of asylum’, as she put it, as exactly that.

For years, she had tried to tell herself that there was some way that she could make up for the selfishness and thoughtlessness of her past, her present, and even her future. But she had always known that the damage she had done was irreparable. The look on Charlotte’s face when the collectors had finally come to the house in person was carved forever in her memory. She had been so awfully taken aback. She had never believed the letters they had received. She had chosen to believe that they must be in error or simply trying to rob them, and Anna-Maria’s guilt-stricken silence had bolstered that belief. In that one moment, she had seen her sister’s tower of faith and love for her, so painstakingly built despite everything any other sister would have hated her for, smashed to the ground. There had been no cure for that. She could become the Queen of England tomorrow, and it could make no difference. Charlotte had believed in her, had truly believed that she would put the needs of others before herself, and she had proved her wrong.

Here, finally, was the consequence of that moment. When Anna-Maria had disappointed herself, her sister and her brother, she had simply lost faith in herself. She hated and pitied herself, but it was a simple thing and came easily. William had left rather than see her destroy herself and the family with her fixations and weakness. And her sister, it seemed, had chosen scorn and revenge. Whether Charlotte saw it that way, she did not know for sure. She thought it more likely that she had it all justified and tallied up in her neat mind as a necessary evil, or some other excuse.

It was done now, and there would be no undoing it. Charlotte had had her revenge. And she could not blame her for it.

Whether or not she wanted to come home no longer mattered. She was not wanted there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My next update may not be for a few weeks as I have some decisions to make about the next few chapters. Sorry about this, but I will be working on it every day and hopefully the finished product will be something I'm proud of. 
> 
> I'm sorry for the angst of this chapter, but it was necessary. Sorry for the lack of Hook too. From now on he will be a lot more prominent in the story (and thank goodness for that)
> 
> Until next time!


	11. Nonsense and Civility

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your kind patience in waiting for this chapter! I'm not gonna lie, it was a pain in the neck, but I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> I would like to take this moment to introduce my wonderful godsend of a beta, Bosun Marcella! She will be my beta from this chapter onwards and thank goodness for that! It is thanks to her inspiration and hard work that this chapter is as good as it is. As always, your reviews are very much welcomed and appreciated!

 

The next day, the men offered to escort her to the Captain's bath, but she refused them. A short while after, they told her that Charlotte wanted to meet with her, and again she sent them away. The pirates looked troubled by that, and no doubt carried word of it back to their Captain, but she was too lost in her own thoughts to care.

She could not bring herself to hate her sister, just as Charlotte could not hate her, or so she said, at least. But nor could she pretend that everything would ever be well between them and truthfully, she knew that things had been bad for a long time. If she looked back with a clear eye, she could see that the only reason they had remained sisters was because they had been united; first by Father's death, then by necessity. They had always quarrelled, but underneath even their most petty squabbles had lain a deep bitterness at Anna-Maria's many sins. When she considered it all, it seemed that she had never done anything right; that she always misstepped, no matter how carefully she laid her plans. She knew for a fact that other people could beg their foreign relatives for money without things going so terribly wrong, so why couldn't she do the same?

The sharks below the ship jeered at her self-pity; she could feel them flicking their tails in disdain. Sharks did not feel grief or loneliness or regret. For that she could almost envy them their simple, hungry minds.

Her strength returned quicker than she would have predicted and before night had fallen she could at least be melancholy while standing up. When the door opened and Smee came in bearing his tray, as always. She said nothing. She was almost nauseous with hunger but eating seemed trivial at a time like this.

"Would you mind some company, Lady Anna?"

She conjured up a smile for him from somewhere. Smee took it as the invitation it was and made himself a seat on a trunk. She could see the other pirates peeping in at them through the open door. She only recognised one of them and she did not know his name. They did seem rather interested in her, however. Had tales of her so-called delirium spread through the ship? She adored Smee, but she knew that nothing she told him would remain private. He had probably told the whole crew of her supernatural claims by now, even if he did not believe them. And he certainly would have told his Captain.

What must the crew be thinking of her, underneath their playful jibes about mermaids? If the initial reactions of Smee and Long Eyed Pete were anything to go by, pirates were as superstitious as lawful sailors and she was lucky not to have been thrown overboard already.

It struck her suddenly that there was only one person aboard who had the authority to prevent the crew from casting her into the sea. She thought of how the Captain had called himself her saviour with an internal squirm. The notion that she could owe her life to such a villain was discomforting. And now she owed him the survival of her family, if Charlotte was to be believed. Surely this could not all be because they had both drank from the well. No matter what Captain Hook claimed, that did not make them allies.

Not knowing her inner turmoil, Smee passed the tray to her. She was nonplussed to uncover more of Cook's Chicken Soup for Healing the Sick. Was that all they would ever feed her now? It smelled enticing enough that she would not mind too much. She was determined not to let her memories of eating human beings take the simple joy of chicken soup away from her this time, and so she had a sip. It was as good as it smelled.

Smee looked happy to see her eating. He said in a carefully neutral voice, "I think of you as a friend, you know."

She had not expected that. "Thank you. I feel the same way." And she did. Smee had been a great comfort to her. His friendliness had made an unbearable situation easier.

"That's good to hear. May I call you Anna? Only calling you 'Lady Anna' takes too long and feels so stiff. Pirates hate to stand on ceremony, well, most of us." He grimaced, thinking of the Captain, no doubt.

"I…" She could count on one hand the amount of people who had ever called her by her christian name. The Captain had done it before, but only because he was a shameless cad who cared nothing for her comfort, and all the others had been family, aside from Henry. It felt too personal and besides, only Charlotte had called her Anna, and that name was tainted to her now. "Perhaps Anna-Maria would be better. Or Miss Anna-Maria." She suggested. Smee frowned at that. She compromised. "Miss Maria, then?"

"Aye, that's better." He paused, obviously considering his next words "Your and your sister have spoken about your leaving the ship." She sent him an angry glare and he looked apologetic. "We all heard, Miss Maria. You were both quite vocal. Especially towards the end."

She winced. She was hoping that that conversation had remained private, but Smee was right; they had practically been screaming at each other. She did not know how to reply. So the whole ship knew that she was not welcome in her own home any longer. She closed her eyes. Another shame to add to the list.

She felt Smee's hand touch hers. When she opened her eyes, she saw that the bosun was giving her a look of real sympathy. "For your own family to turn their backs on you in your time of need... You must be grieving terribly."

His sympathy did not comfort her as it was meant to. She became haughty instead. "It is very sad, Smee, and it is also by your Captain's design, so that he may render me defenceless and friendless."

"You are not friendless aboard the Jolly Roger, Miss Maria. And you are not defenceless either." His eyes flickered up to her scalp and her hand fluttered to her hair self-consciously.

She retorted, "Friend or not, if he tries to hurt me, you would not stand in his way. Nor would anyone else aboard this ship."

He looked hurt by that, but did not deny it. "Maybe not, but he does not wish you harm. Take it from me, when Captain Hook wants to hurt someone, he does it."

Was that meant to make her feel safer? "He has hurt me. He has taken my sister's love from me." Of course that was not strictly true, since she knew all too well that Charlotte had given it away freely, and worse, that she had been given good cause to do so. But she didn't much feel like being reasonable, and if she could blame Captain Hook for her problems, she would. At least, out loud.

Smee shook his head. "He's done no such thing, Miss. Your sister cares for you very much, no matter what you've done or what you look like. Now I am only a bosun, but even I know you cannot go ashore for long. You are a clever woman. What will happen to you if landlubbers see you as you are? Lady Charlotte knows that too. Your sister will be given money to make up for losing you, and you shall not have to feel guilty for staying here with us. She will be taken care of, the Captain will see to it."

So Smee knew nothing of her debts, thank goodness. He even seemed to think that she wanted to stay here. But for all his ignorance, he had a point. To owe her sister nothing? To have the debts wiped clean? What would that feel like? It was what she had wished for for a long time.

"That will be a blessing." She was forced to concede. She thought on it. "But it does not mean I must stay here."

His eyes widened and he frowned. "Oh, Miss, you cannot think to go ashore. What will you do? It is not safe for a woman alone."

"Your Captain has promised me a stipend. I will take it and leave. Money can buy me safety, if there is enough of it. I can travel by carriage, or in the back of a cart if I must."

The pirates behind Smee snorted at that. They did not think much of the plan.

Neither did Smee. He looked worried for her. "Even if he did give it to you in advance, which I doubt, what would you do when the money runs out? What would you do when you are seen? It is madness, Miss Maria. Don't do it."

"I can try. I must try." It was her pride was talking, she knew. It did not make her feelings any less real, though, or less potent.

At that, Smee became openly distraught, and she blessed him for it. "Why? The Captain has said he will do no harm to you. He has given his word on it."

"So I am to remain on the Jolly Roger on that premise? A murderer swearing on his school that he will not harm me is meant to suffice? It is cold comfort, Smee. Besides, what sort of life could I lead on the Jolly Roger? There is nothing for me here."  _Though there is nothing for me on land either,_  she thought to herself.

Smee seemed unfazed by the question, in fact he answered so quickly that she thought he must have been building up to it. "We would take care of you, Miss, and you can take care of us. You needn't be bored."

Where had that come from? She shifted uncomfortably. "Take care of you… how? If you are thinking I will be some sort of bed-warmer, you are sorely mistaken." It was exactly the sort of thing that made her frightened enough to brave land as a woman alone and without means.

The pirates flinched, whether at the idea of bedding her or at her tone she did not know. Smee said in a very firm voice, "We will keep each other company, Miss Maria. The Captain has forbidden us to lay a hand on you. He has been very clear on that. The men miss their womenfolk at home. Even just having you aboard will make us all much happier. Jack and Batty and the rest were all sad to be forbidden to see you after the mutiny. If you ask the Captain, I'm sure he will let you walk about the deck whenever you like and talk to us, as long as you do not distract us from our work."

At the mention of the crew, she mustered up the courage to ask a question that had long been on her mind. "Are they still alive? Mr Bell, Saltson and the Friar?"

"The Friar was killed most gruesomely, Miss." One of the other pirates said excitedly. "He was hung up like a wet coat and-" He fell silent when Smee scowled at him and he was knocked on the head by another pirate.

"Yes yes, that is quite enough. The lady does not need to know the details. But he was killed for his part in it, Miss. Mr Bell and Saltson were spared, though. Captain Hook would not kill Saltson unless he had to, Miss. He's a useful sort of pirate. There's barely a thing aboard the ship he could not do in a pinch."

That was a relief. She could not say she would miss the Friar, but Salston and Bell were fine men, for pirates.

One of the pirates stuck his head around the door. He was the one with fingerbones tied up about his throat. Ghastly. She had not seen him since she had been hauled onto the ship, dripping in shark intestines. "Lady, you likely have talents as could entertain people. Being high-born and such."

She was nowhere near high-born, merely the daughter of a formerly stupendously rich merchant, though if the pirates still did not know that she was not going to tell them. Besides, what skills that she been taught by her tutors that could be of any use here? "I can paint and play a little music. But what good is that aboard a pirate ship?"

"More than you think, Miss." Smee said smugly. "The Captain has a harpsichord."

So he did. And that was something she still could not understand. Was it part of his facade of gentility? It would be wonderful if he would let her play it, though. Few things gave her as much joy as music, even if she was not as talented as her tutors would have liked. "It has been years since I played one, I always preferred the sound of the piano." But to that Smee only shrugged, probably not knowing the difference.

Another pirate spoke up nervously.  _Just how many pirates were eavesdropping in on this conversation, anyway?_  "Can you sing, Lady Anna-Maria?"

She grinned cheekily at the question. "Only in self defence." The crew laughed.

Smee asked, "What about dancing?"

"Very well." She said proudly. The pirates all nudged one another. "But I think that while a pirate can dance a merry jig, a court ballet might be lost on him." Their faces fell comically, except Smee, who had only asked for his Captain in the first place.

"What about," Smee sounded hopeful. "telling stories?"

She frowned. "Stories?" Why would an old man like Smee ask about something so childish? "I can't remember ever telling one. They were not much encouraged in my nursery. We had lessons to learn and work to be doing." Her tutors would never have suffered storytelling when she could have been practicing her needlepoint or her piano, after all. "Besides, what need would pirates have of stories? You must see all sorts of wild things on your voyages. I can hardly think you would need to tell tales."

Her words caused an uproar as the pirates fell over themselves to explain to her the importance of stories. Two other pirates jumped in to loudly proclaim how badly they needed to be told a story and before she knew it a horde of pirates, perhaps a dozen of them, were in her little dressing room. Things got quite heated as they began to argue over which was better, adventure stories or love stories. One man drew his sword and waved it threateningly at another man who had seized the high ground by jumping onto a pile of trunks. Her cries for them to be sensible were completely ignored.

She thought that blood was about to be drawn when Smee finally gave up and began to chase them out of her room. He apologised heartily for the disturbance as he went, saying how they always got like this where stories were concerned and that he never should have brought it up in the first place.

When she was alone she looked at the mess that had been made of her room, mind spinning with confusion. What had that all been about? The pirates who had been so excited to slaughter the people aboard the merchant ship had just behaved almost like children. No, they had behaved exactly like children, excitable and wild and desperate for attention.

But at least none of them had taken the opportunity to ask her about the night of the caravel. Bringing up the topic of stories could serve as an excellent distraction in the future, if nothing else.

Sighing at the exuberance of the crew, she began stuffing costumes back into trunks and trying to put the room in order. What was happening on this ship? A handless Captain who could not die and a crew who seemed equal parts innocent and murderous. And then there was her. A woman who had drank water from a wishing well and had been cursed because of it.

Her life before had been sad and happy in equal measure, but it had always been normal. Now, so much had happened in such a short time, and she was far from normal.

More than ever, she wanted answers.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Within a few days she had recovered completely, though she still had not managed to look at the state of her scalp in the mirror.

As time passed, Smee's arguments that she should stay aboard the ship had turned the tide already set in motion by Charlotte, the Captain and her own good sense. She was a passionate and wilful woman, but she was not stupid. She had come to the uneasy conclusion that it would be foolish, reckless and dangerous for her to live on land. That made the thought of staying here no easier, but every day the men of the ship became more natural around her, and soon things were almost as they had been before her mutinous plans had gone so wrong. The pirates often came to sit with her during her meals, though they were now under strict orders from Smee (and presumably their Captain) not to get carried away by thoughts of having a storyteller on the ship with them. They did not revert again to that childish innocence they had displayed, but they talked with her about their lives on the ship and those they had left behind to go a'pirating with real feeling. Her initial suspicion that the Captain had set them the task of winning her over did not seem as likely when she heard them talking of the little babies waiting for them on shore. The Captain had no idea that beneath their grimy exteriors and murderous impulses lay the beating hearts of men, for he saw them only as dogs or tools to his purpose.

One afternoon, for want of something to do, Anna-Maria told the men that she would like to take a turn about the deck. They all agreed that fresh air and exercise would be good for her and within minutes she was feeling the wind toss her hair about and breathing in the briney stink of the sea. It was chilly and grey today, without even a hint of sunlight. They must be in English waters. Her patriotic heart was warmed by that, even if she knew she could never live on shore again.

Everywhere she looked men were working with a furor. Even the men who had been her escorts were drafted into various tasks within moments of stepping on deck. One group of pirates sat cross legged on the deck stitching clothes and measuring each other with a practiced air. Men swabbed the deck with keen eyes, scrubbing furiously at every spot of dirt on the planks. Up in the rigging were pirates painting over the skull-and-crossbones emblazoned on the mainsail. None of them looked very happy. Saltson in particular was obviously hating every minute of it. Everyone was yelling at each other to work harder, to get out of the way, to pass me one of those.

There was so much going on that she barely knew where to look, but then, of course, she saw the Captain. He had a way of drawing her attention that could not entirely be attributed to their circumstances, she realised. He had an aura about him; a presence that bent the eye in his direction. Even if the crew had not been so drab by comparison, she still thought he would struggle to go unnoticed, though she suspected that he loved to be noticed.

Captain Hook lazed in the center of the deck in all his usual elaborate pomposity. While his crew labored all around him, he sat in perfect calm on a stuffed chair taking his afternoon tea. There was even a grandiose, peacock-feathered canopy erected for him, despite the lack of sun, with another empty chair beneath it. The Captain was casually dressed, wearing only dark jodhpurs and a white shirt, with a dark blue sash about his waist.

Smee stood behind him, as always. He was red-faced with cold, the poor man. Like the rest of the crew, he wore ill-matched rags, though she thought his might have been a kilt once. But she was ill dressed too and the cold did not bother her. Strange.

Captain Hook raised a teacup to her in salute and called out. "Ah, Miss Westwood, how delightful it is to be graced by your presence. Will you join me? Smee has finally managed to perfect the art of adding tea leaves, hot water and milk together. The result is astounding."

The last time she had seen the Captain on this deck, he had hurt her, for all his excuses about being honest. Now he was offering her tea. It was not ladylike to roll her eyes, but even so she barely refrained from it. But she had been meaning to talk to the Captain. She knew that she must have words with him before they made port.

She walked under the shade and sank into a plush chair. With a smile he motioned for Smee to pour her some tea.

The Captain's attention was on her and his eyes were full of secrets, as if he knew something that she did not. She could not see even a shred of guilt in his face, and she resented him for it. As much as she knew that Charlotte had made her own choice, hot hatred rose into her mouth at the sight of him looking so profoundly unapologetic, even knowing what he had done to her.

"Tell me, Captain," She asked, gesturing at herself with a carelessness that masked seething resentment. "Do you like what you have bought?"

He mused on it for a while before saying flippantly, "I think of it as an investment. But certainly, I do. More as time goes by, in fact."

 _So, he does not deny it. He admits to buying me like a man buys a horse._ Her body hummed with rage.

At that moment, Smee set down the pot and offered her a cup. She did not take it. Her eyes flickered to the pot sitting on the table. She could snatch it up, right now, and dash the boiling water at the Captain's face. She weighed it up in her mind for a long serious moment. The temptation was strong, very strong. It would not kill him even if he were not immortal, but that was not what she desired then. She wanted to hurt him as he had hurt her. Perhaps there was only so much emotional pain she could inflict on such a callous, unfeeling creature as she believed him to be, but stealing his vanity from him, if only for a moment, would do very well.

Moreover, she thought that the pleasure of watching him burn would be great indeed.

"Don't."

Her concentration broke and she saw that the Captain was looking at her grimly. How long had she been staring at the teapot for? Her ears burned with shame at her obliviousness.

He spoke to her very softly so that no-one else could hear. "Our accord aside, if you harm me in front of my crew, you will force my hand. Your womanhood, your beauty and your status, none of it will save you. I will have to kill you." His form was relaxed but she could feel the power emanating from him.

Anna-Maria was able to tear her gaze from him to look at the bosun, still with his hand outreached, as if frozen in place. Smee's eyes were a plea and she could hear his voice in her mind urging her to be wise, to tread carefully.

How strange that the spirit of her inner-common sense should speak with the voice of Smee now, when before it had always spoken in the dulcet tones of her sister.

Whoever the voice imitated, it was right. She had been very lucky to survive the failed mutiny. If she attacked him in front of his crew, she could see now how it would end. And for what? Pain that he would recover from regardless? The satisfaction of a short-lived revenge? Perhaps she had once been stupid enough to do such a thing, but no more.

But she would have, she realised, if the Captain had not warned her against it.

Her hand shaking only barely, she took the cup Smee offered and drank deeply from it. It took the edge off her anger, but no more than that.

On top of everything else, the knowledge that the Captain had once again acted to spare her stung sorely. To be rescued by the man who had condemned her to purgatory was no easy thing.

Coolly, she said, "I am no child to need advisement, Captain." Though she clearly did.

Her ingratitude did not make him fly into a rage as she had expected. Instead Hook looked at her with appreciation. Hook had become acutely aware of her adulthood of late, though she did not suspect it.

Hook inclined his head a little and simply said reassuringly, "Of course not, and I am glad of it."

And indeed he was, for Captain Hook could never lower himself to harbour sentiment for a woman incapable of intelligent thought and although she had a spirited heart, Anna-Maria could see reason in all but her most heightened states of emotion. She did not know, unfortunately, how impressed Hook was by her; not only by her attempts of violence against him, but by the rare combination of feeling and intelligence that she possessed.

The tension between them ebbed at his sensible and inoffensive response, and after a while Anna-Maria felt calm again. Smee looked relieved that things had not come to blows between them, and so, she thought, did the Captain. He watched her over his teacup, but she could feel no malice in him.

At first she did not know what to say. Then her eyes were drawn again to the madness going on all around them and she asked, "What are the men doing? Are you redecorating the ship?"

His interest visibly deflated at the mention of his men. "Oh, that? Well, the Jolly Roger in her natural state is the quintessential pirate ship. If we docked at Plymouth with our colours showing, we would cause a terrible scene."

She could see how that would play out, clear as day. The Captain being dragged off in irons to rot in a cell somewhere. What a happy thought.

The smile on his lips froze at the dreaming look in her eyes. "What are you scheming now, girl?"

As tempting as it was to be honest, she knew from painful experience that if it came down to a verbal contest between them, she would leave bawling again, and she did not want that. So she took a deep breath and lightly said, "I was not scheming. I was just hoping to talk about my situation here. I have given it some thought."

His answering smirk made her want to spit ink at him. Could she do that? Her tentacles twitched at the idea. Could the things feel excitement? "At last. You've seen reason then?"

"Reason is nowhere to be found aboard this ship, Captain. But I know I cannot live on land either. I am- well, I am transforming." Though into what, she did not want to think.

He grimaced. "Yes, that must be… inconvenient. But rest assured Miss Westwood, no-one aboard the Jolly Roger will mind your metamorphosis. Pirates are a worldly sort, by nature."

She wanted to tell him that she knew too much of sailors to not know how likely it was that she would have been killed if not for his command. She knew that he had likely saved her, but she could not bring herself to admit it.

Smee cut in to offer her a cup, which she gratefully accepted. She took a mouthful so he would not see the way her mouth twisted. She could not see how anyone could bear to see her, even pirates. She hid the things as best she could, but she knew that they moved about when she was emotional, which was most of the time.

To cheer herself up, more than anything, she said half-jokingly, "The crew will not hate me even if I grow fins?"

She hadn't expected or even wanted an answer, but under his breath she heard Captain Hook murmur, "Grow as many fins as you like, girl, only do not become a thirty-foot reptile, I beg you." while taking a sip from his cup.

She looked at him in open astonishment. "What?"

He waved her question away. "Nothing. I have told you before, I have seen things far more unusual than you, and none of them so pretty." The flirtation was delivered so shamelessly that she blushed in spite of it being a blatant distraction, which only made him grin wider.

When Smee appeared next to her to offer her some whisky for her tea, she was appalled but glad for the opportunity to take back control of the conversation, which was swiftly becoming a waste of her time. "I did not come on deck to talk about my prettiness, Captain."

"Really? A shame." He pouted a little.

"I came to talk about…" She took a sip of blessedly non-alcoholic tea to fortify her, "my place here. Aboard the ship. And whatever you know of the well, I would know it too."

He inclined his head to her obligingly. "You have my full attention, lady. Speak on."

She gave him a dubious look. "You would answer my questions candidly?"

"Whyever not? The ill circumstances of our first meeting grieve me terribly. I toss and turn at night, the shame, no, my  _remorse_ of my lapse of character keeps me from my sleep." She had never seen a man look less remorseful than Captain Hook in that moment, reclining like a King at leisure in his chair with a teacup to his mustachioed lips. She was so struck by how obviously false his pitiful expression was that she could not think of what to say, and taking her silence as fascination he waxed lyrical on the subject for some time before finally concluding, "If there is any way I can prove my good intentions to you, I will do it, and gladly."

Anna-Maria had had quite enough of his dramatics by then. "I too toss and turn, Captain, but that is because I sleep on a trunk." His eyes flashed with mirth at that. "I will be frank; if I am to stay here, I will be accorded respect."

"But of course. You would be an honoured guest."

He had said that before, and results had been disastrous. She would need to speak plainer. "Anyone who tries to lay hands on me, Captain, will lose their hands. Or hook. Am I clear?" Charlotte would have been mortified to hear how crassly she spoke. The sheer rudeness of it. She found that she did not care.

The Captain inclined his head to her. "As crystal, lady. No one on this ship would dream of harming you."

"I see." She did not. "The men have some notions of me entertaining them. I do not know about that, but I do enjoy their company. If I am to stay, I will go where I wish and speak to who I wish. I will not be a prisoner on this ship. You must tell the men not to guard my door any longer."

He smiled graciously but it did not reach his eyes, which were cold suddenly. "Your freedom is yours, of course, but why would you want to speak to my dogs? They are below us. We who have drank from the well are as superior to them as a man is from an ape."

"I do not feel superior, Captain." Smee stifled a smile at that. The man had been openly listening in from his place behind his Captain. "I feel like a monster."

Captain Hook smiled wickedly. "Good. Monsters have all the fun. But come, ask your questions. I am eager to sate your curiosity. You want to know about the wishing well, do you not?"

"Yes, as much as you know of it. I want to understand what has happened to me. Why would a well of wishes give me tentacles and burning ink? Why would it-" She stopped abruptly, realising she had been about to ask about her dreams and her visions. If he did not know of them by now, she would not tell him. She found her weakness and the crimes against man she had committed to be repugnant. "-bestow anything at all upon people? Is it a holy relic of some sort?"

He laughed at the idea. "Holy? Hardly. God wants man to die, after all, and since the well can give men eternity, if anything it must be a work of the Devil. Ah, do not frown so, I only jest. Forgive me. The well does what it likes, save that when you drink from it you may wish yourself a boon. Why it gave you what it did I cannot tell you. You are the one who wished for it."

She sighed. He had no answers for her, then. "I did not wish for anything at all. I only drank from it because I had been so thirsty. I had no idea the water was magical."

He frowned thoughtfully. "No, I suppose not." He took another sip from his cup. When he next spoke, it was with a care that was unlike him. "It is possible that if you did not know what you were drinking from, you may have bungled the wish."

"Bungled it?" How? She had never made a wish in the first place.

"Oh yes. It has happened before. Rarely, though. It is quite a difficult island to get to by accident. You never did tell me how you got there, incidentally."

"No, I have not." She would speak no further on the subject. He did not need to know.

He raised an eyebrow. "How mysterious. As I was saying, if you did not know what you were drinking from, it might have given you something unorthodox. My own wish was planned out rather meticulously, so it could not go awry, but in your case, an error of sorts could have been made. Moreover, I know that if you do not drink much, it can be unpredictable. If you did not know what it was, I expect you did not imbibe enough."

She frowned as she tried to remember clearly but it was hazier than she would have liked. She had not thought much of the well, save only that it was proof that the island had been lived upon at some point. After that she had fled in fear, and then everything had gone wrong... How odd that such an immense thing as drinking from a magical well could seem so unimportant in comparison to the ordeal of the last few weeks. She made her best guess. "I drank a great deal. Half a bucket, I think."

"Ah. That is not so very much at all. I drank so much of the damn thing I can barely stand to look at water these days." His eyes lost a little of their edge as he reminisced on that for a moment, before catching himself, "Is there anything else? I have a powerful longing to smoke. Do you smoke cigars?"

A woman, smoking cigars? She had never heard of such a thing. "No, thank you. Only…" She thought of something then, and could not help but ask, "Are there others who have drank from the well?"

"Yes. At least a dozen or so. Some of whom I even call friends."

Now  _that_ was interesting. The implications, the possibilities, were limitless. If there were other drinkers, then surely one of them might know a way to cure her, or at least help her? Trying to be diplomatic, she asked carefully, "Are they… like you? The others?"

He sank back into his chair and smiled with relaxed arrogance as he drawled, "I assure you, Miss Westwood, that I am quite a singular creature."

What she had been wanting to know was if any of the others could be spoken to sensibly and safely, or if they were all villains like him. But it appeared that she had gotten as much good out of him as she could hope for today. What she had learned could well help her one day, even if it did not help her now. No matter what the Captain thought, she had never wished to be like this.

When Smee came forward with a box of what was presumably cigars, she hastily excused herself, ignoring the Captain's protestations. She had never been around men smoking before, and she had no desire to begin now. Besides, she had had quite enough Hook for one day.

She was about to head down the stairs when she looked up one last time at the skull-and-crossbones being painted over. The sight of it seemed strangely portentous and a chill crept upon her. In a daze she looked up at it, feeling much the same as she had when she had beheld the fairy-gold of the Siren that had brought her here.

Not knowing that she spoke aloud and in the grips of an unknowable premonition, Anna-Maria murmured, "Do you believe in fate?" to herself.

Captain Hook had somehow heard her and called out from a cloud of cigar smoke, "Believe in fate, woman? How could I not? I have seen it in the flesh."

 

 

* * *

 

 

Perhaps if Anna-Maria had simply asked him why he cared for her welfare, or perhaps if Hook had told her why he had paid Charlotte off, a great deal of time and energy on both sides could have been saved. But she had been too angry to see any other possible motive than malice, and he had been too proud by far to justify himself to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more chapter left until the end of Part One… We're almost there! After the next chapter, which I aim to have uploaded within the next five days, we will be having a break of at least a month to get Part Two ready to be uploaded. Thanks for reading, and please let us know your thoughts!


	12. Oh, Terror Firma!

 

True to his word, the Captain had allowed her free access to the ship after their discussion two days prior, with the exception of one place; the kitchen. Half-Dead Jack had explained apologetically that none save the Captain were permitted to go there, for the kitchen was considered hallowed ground by all and the work of the mysterious Cook was far too important to be disturbed. She took this explanation with a grain of salt, as she did with so much that the pirates said. She thought it more likely that the Captain had forbidden all but himself to go there because he knew the crew could not be trusted around their food supplies and the Captain’s fine wines. She had said as much to Half-Dead Jack, and he just shrugged sheepishly.

After days of unceasing effort from the crew the ship looked as benevolent as possible. The crew’s clothes were cleaned and fitted and improved upon in every conceivable way, several of them making use of the costumes for her dressing room trunks. There was not a gun or sword among them, as being commoners they would not be permitted to carry arms in public. Everything had been scrubbed, painted over, or, in the case of Long Tom, covered up. The only crewman she could not see working on the deck of the ship was Smee. The bosun had been largely absent as he was too busy with his preparations with the Captain. She could not imagine what else needed doing and she was not curious enough to ask. She had her own problems to concern herself with.

The call of the Beasts had waned of late, at least during the day. Ever since their possession of her, they had largely left her alone, save for morning and dusk where their hunger was at its peak. She used her newfound freedom well and had decided to walk the deck at dawn, as far from the water as she could possibly be. The crew had been surprised to see her up and about so early, but it was the safest thing for her sanity. She had learned from her mistake and did not gaze into the water. She did not trust herself to defy the creatures if they called for her to dive in to join them.

She was most vulnerable at night, when her mind stumbled into that place between reality and the fae world of our dreams. Now that she knew for certain that the things of her nightmares were natural creatures their power over her had faded somewhat. She knew she was not being hunted by demons, at least, as she had once believed. Still, the torments of the night the Jolly Roger had slain the merchant ship still permeated her unconscious mind. She still woke screaming every night since with the sensation of kicking flesh trapped between her teeth. When it was particularly bad, she would throw herself from her trunk and pace the deck of the ship in the dead of night like a madwoman, trying to forget the taste of human flesh.

It was not lost on her that her only good sleep since coming aboard this ship had been the time she had spent recovering in an opium-daze. If her days were not so distinguished by inactivity, she would probably have collapsed from fatigue days ago.

When Smee informed her that they would be docking at Plymouth in the next day or so, she put aside her reluctance and set off to the storage room where Charlotte was being kept. She could not leave things as they were between them. She asked the first pirate she saw to lead her to her sister and he did not object, nor did he look puzzled by the request. He guided her to a door near the stairs that led up into the sunlight. She could hear the men shouting to one another above her head. Her hearing was keen these days, supernaturally keen, though she did not much like to think on it. She felt very nervous now she was here and debated whether or not to speak to Charlotte at all.

“Was there anything else, Lady? Only I have work to be about.” He shuffled from one foot to another.

She smiled at him. “No, thank you. Go on.” And with that, the pirate raced up the stairs and to his duties, no doubt. How things had changed since she had first come aboard, that a pirate should serve as her guide and then leave her be.

She was still standing outside the door deliberating. She could be here forever, and what would be the use of that? Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and took a step inside.

The room that had become Charlotte’s was even smaller than her dressing room. It was utterly bare and in one corner sat Charlotte upon a heap of musty old blankets. Her sister looked dreadful in her captivity, and she wondered why she had not noticed before how thin and pale her sister looked. Feeling very awkward, Anna-Maria curtseyed at her, something she had not done since she was a little child. At this contrite display, Charlotte managed a nod in response.

Not knowing what else to do, Anna-Maria sat herself down on the floor. She cleared her throat. “I am sorry I have not been to see you, you must have been…” Wracked by guilt? Beside herself with worry? “very bored.” She finished lamely.

Charlotte spoke as if the act exhausted her, which it might have. “I had not expected to see you at all, after our discussion the other day.”

“No, Charlotte. And once, I wouldn’t have come.” She couldn’t deny how close she had come to avoiding this discussion forever.

A little fire flashed in Charlotte’s eyes, the first sign of life since she had walked in the room as she demanded, “Then why are you here, sister?”

“Because we are all we have.” Charlotte looked like she wanted to say something, but Anna-Maria continued. “I know that I cannot go back home, I know that I would only bring chaos into your life. Like I always do. No, let me finish. Please.”

Anna-Maria looked at her hands, trying to find the words for what she wanted to say. She wanted so badly to say this right, to at least get this right. In a few days time, they would be parted.

“I want you to know, for whatever it is worth, that I never meant to hurt anyone. I only wanted to have something else, something other than grief for Father. I took it too far, I know that. I always do. I have never been sensible. But I am sorry for it, and more ashamed than I can say.” And she was. She really was. At every ball in London, the men sat and gambled in the drawing rooms, and women played at whist, but how many of them were stupid enough to bet beyond their means? How many put their families in jeopardy because of it? It was not something that could be forgiven, she knew that. But she was sorrier for what she had done than she was for anything else. Even for being here.

Hope bloomed in her sister’s eyes at her tone and her countenance, and Anna-Maria almost hated her for it. Here she was, baring her soul, and her sister only saw opportunity. “You are going to stay, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I am going to stay. On one condition.”

Suspicion immediately clouded Charlotte’s eyes. “Oh? What is that?”

Anna-Maria took a deep breath and committed herself. “If I do this, if I stay here with these thieves and murderers, you will say that you forgive me. For the gambling, for frightening Henry away, for frightening our brother away. For Father loving me the most. You will forgive me for being born. And one day, if I can come back to visit, if I can come home in a way that does not bring you disgrace, you will allow it. You will not bar the doors to me. Promise me that, and you can take the Captain’s money and leave me behind.”

Charlotte met her gaze with her piercing eyes. Her lips pursed and Anna-Maria knew her sister was thinking very hard. “You are changed. What has happened?”

Charlotte would never know. _I ate children, and knew myself a monster of a breed that cannot be allowed on land. I do not know what I will be in a year, or ten years. What I do know is that the Captain was right, and I would destroy any future you could have, and everything would be stolen away from us. If I come home forever, I will ruin you. And I do not want to do that again._

Anna-Maria would not be denied an answer. “Do you promise me, Charlotte?”

Charlotte’s jaw clenched and her voice was hopeless. “I love you. No matter what you’ve done.”

“Say that you forgive me. Say that I can come back one day. Say that you will not hate me for mother anymore. Promise me.”

Charlotte turned her golden head in a flinch. “I cannot.”

No, she could not. That would have been a lie. She repressed a cry of grief as she forced herself to her feet. Anna-Maria looked down at her sister and felt something settle in her heart, once and for all. “Good-bye, Charlotte. You will be home soon.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

She had decided that if today was going to be a day of regrets, she might as well get it all over with and be as sad as she could, so that tomorrow might be better.

As she lounged in the Captain’s immense tub that evening, trying to ignore the call of the sharks below, she called for Smee to bring her a mirror.

He said nothing. “Smee, did you hear me?” She called out querulously. He had been waiting outside when she had come in. Though she could walk freely through most of the ship, Captain Hook still did not allow her in his chambers unattended, which she supposed she could not begrudge him for.

“Yes, Miss Maria.” He paused. “Are you sure, Miss? You do not have to.”

Oh. Was it that bad? “Yes, Smee. I am sure.” She wanted to know. She had to know. They were there whether she faced them or not. Best to know exactly what she was dealing with. She was as prepared as she could be, and leaving this a moment longer could not make it any better.

Moments, later, Smee knocked on the door and she stepped out of the bath, donning one of the thick red robes left aside for her when she bathed. He stepped in, looking like he wanted to flee, but she urged him to come forward. She would see them, she had made up her mind. Flinching, he started to raise up the mirror. Was he afraid she would strike him if she did not like what she saw? And then she saw.

Her hair was wet, and so they were very visible. Her heart was squeezed by a gauntleted fist as she looked at her deformity for the first time. They were larger, much larger, than when she had last felt them. They were as long as her hand now and easily as wide as two fingers. They were also dark blue. That shocked her almost as much as their size. “They are coloured? I assumed…” She had assumed they were the colour of a fish’s scales, or something similar. She forced a hollow laugh. “The colour of sapphires. That is not so bad.”

Again, he hesitated, his dear eyes filled with concern for her. “They are not always. They were black when you used your ink. Both times.”

“Oh.”

Her mind ran around and around in circles of torment. Had they grown because of the sharks incursion on her mind? Or would it have happened regardless? She blinked tears from her eyes. She had lost so much hair, and the tentacles were large enough that the hair she had left would barely cover it even if she piled it all on top of her head.

As she looked upon them, she saw the colour begin to drain out of the things until they were pale blue. They began to shift and curl upon her head. And to her horror, she could feel the pins-and-needles sensation that she knew signalled the awakening of the terrible things. With shaking fingers, she parted the thin strands of hair further down and felt two firm lumps there, and another very slight one underneath that, right at the base of her skull. She could feel only tingling from them; there was no pain, but that made no difference to her.

She turned away from the mirror and sat heavily upon the edge of the bathtub, clapping her hand to her mouth to smother a dismayed cry.

She had never felt so lost.

“Oh, Smee.” She gripped onto the edge of the bathtub until her fingers turned white. She must not give in to her weak self. She had to be as brave as she could. She looked up at him and smiled painfully, “I know how to speak French and Spanish, and dance, and how to be pretty. I do not know how to be a monster.”

Suddenly the fat old Bosun looked very sad and very wise. “Neither did any of us, Miss, when we were as young as you.” He patted her gently on the cheek. “We learn it along the way.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was late in the morning and she had been halfway to sleep when she heard the great cry of ‘Land ho!’ With a gasp of excitement, she flew from her dressing room, taking the stairs two at a time and burst onto the deck and into a changed world.

Anna-Maria raced to the railing to drink it all in. Nestled in the rolling green countryside and two rivers, Plymouth harbour was a welcome sight. Though the skies were the dreary grey of autumn, the sight of land was breathtaking after being at sea for so long. It had been months since she had left home in search of an answer to the problem of her debts. The green hills of her homeland had never looked so beautiful.

The gulls shrieked incessantly overhead as they swooped the fishing boats that dotted the water. The sea was teeming with ships almost as large as the Jolly Roger, though they all seemed ordinary. But then again, the Jolly Roger no longer reflected her true nature either.

She kept looking at the other ships, expecting them to open fire on the pirate ship in their midst, but they were perfectly disguised as merchants and no-one paid them any attention. The men of the Jolly Roger look positively civilised in their taken in and patched up clothing as they whirled about the ship.

And as for the Captain, he yelled orders and threats at everyone and everything save her, and she did her best to be quiet and stay out of his way. He was dressed in a fine blue jacket and had cunningly hidden his hook by wearing his maimed arm in a sling. Gone was his huge hat and his ear-rings, and he looked every bit a respectable captain. He even appeared to be unarmed, save for one pistol at his belt. Admittedly, he looked at the other ships in the harbour with open lust when he was not commanding his crew, but he did not act on his violent desires, save to stroke his pistol every now and then as they came into port.

Blessedly, the sharks had been distracted by a school of fish further out to sea and though the thoughts that drifted to her through them made her queasy, she could ignore them. She had been getting better at that. She also believed that the sheer cold of the Atlantic might be keeping their connection at a low ebb. She knew that they hated the waters here and went against their nature by coming so far from warmer climes. If the Jolly Roger only went further north, they might break off their pursuit of her altogether. She had no idea where the ship was going next, of course. She would have to ask as soon as she got the chance.

The beauty of it all, and the respite from the oppressive thoughts of the sharks, were almost enough to make her forget that when they sailed away from here she would be without family for the first time in her life. Almost. Unconsciously, she gave a sad little sigh.

“It’s quite tragic, really. A girl in love with land, but tied to the sea.” She turned sharply to see the crew looking very conspicuous as they worked behind her. She gave them a scathing look, Smee in particular, who she thought had been the one to speak. “Well, it is, Miss.” He defended himself hastily.

“How do you bear being apart from it so long? Land, I mean.” She asked them seriously, once she was done scolding them with her eyes.

“We wonder the same about you landlubbers being away from the sea, Lady.” Saltson said sensibly.

Anna-Maria could see the logic in that. To the crew, the Jolly Roger was their home, even if it was a very turbulent one.

The crew did not waste a single moment. As soon as they had dropped their anchors and tied the ship to the docks, the men came up in their dozens from below decks with all manner of treasure. Among them she saw Half Dead Jack cradling an oil painting in his arms like an infant. Everywhere there were rolled up carpets, chests and crates and statues. She felt ill to look at it all, not only with disgust at seeing the spoils taken from innocent travellers, but with no small amount of lust. She could not help but stare at the parade of wealth as the crew carried it all down the gangway and began to load it onto carts waiting on the docks. As soon as a man was done loading he would race back to the ship to get more treasure. And it seemed that there was always more to be had. Exactly how many ships and ports had the ship plundered? The profits of pirating had not been exaggerated to her, apparently. Particularly since the lion’s share of it all went to the Captain.

On the docks she saw an older man looking up at the ship. He was tall and while he did not look like a lord, he was well dressed and carried himself with pride. Who was he? She thought she could see a calculating look in his eyes.

Her heart jumped. Did he know the Jolly Roger was a pirate ship? Perhaps he was a constable? She did not know if she wanted that to be the case. If he were, it would mean hanging for the men, a fate that she knew that they did not deserve, no matter what they had done. And for her? What punishment would await a female pirate accomplice? Would she be hanged too? Her blood turned to ice in her veins. Would a constable believe her if she told him she was a prisoner, even if that was not exactly true any longer?

“Ah. Finally.” She heard the voice of the Captain. She turned to see him and Smee looking at the man. They did not seem threatened by him in the slightest.

She could bite her tongue no longer. “Who is that?” She asked, trying to sound as though she did not care one way or the other while she contemplated what being strangled to death by a rope felt like.

Distracted into speaking sense for once, the Captain simply replied, “That is our friend the harbourmaster, Miss Westwood. He has been expecting our arrival for a week now. I’ll just be a moment.”

And with that, Captain Hook sauntered down to the gangway and strode straight up to meet the harbourmaster. Anna-Maria could not believe his boldness. Disguise or no disguise, surely he would be caught out. A spot of paint and a dressed crew could only do so much. She blinked in surprise when, with a practiced air and a few words that she could not hear even with her enhanced abilities, Captain Hook brandished a piece of paper at the official. The two men shook hands after a moment, and she saw the harbourmaster smile a long, slow smile. Intuition curdled within her. Did the man know who Hook was, what this ship was? As the Captain slipped a little pouch into the other man’s palm, she was impressed despite herself. Captain Hook was relying on more than disguises and documents to grant them safe passage here. He owned the officials of the harbour. For a man who could be so absurd at times, he was surprisingly thorough.

The two men talked for some time, the Captain gesturing wildly with his one free arm as the official laughed. Just as she was beginning to get bored, one of the men staggered under the weight of his burden and bumped into Captain Hook, falling onto the ground and dropping his chest with a tremendous noise. The Captain’s quicksilver eyes flashed and she feared his facade would disintegrate and he would kill the man on the spot. Indeed the unlucky pirate expected it too; for he cringed and shielded his face with his hand.

But he was not murdered. The Captain caught himself and snarled, “Mr Harper, _please_ get up and get back to work. You had better pray the goods are not damaged.” He said the word ‘please’ with calculated contempt as he brushed the spot on his coat the lowly pirate had touched. She exhaled in relief as the poor pirate rushed to the cart, safe from being shot at or hanged from the mast. At least, for as long as they were in port, she thought sadly.

Hearing the shuffling of feet close by, she turned and saw that Charlotte was there. Looming behind her were two pirates with a great chest between them. That must be it. The hoard that would pay their debts and see to it that Charlotte was a rich woman in her own right. Anna-Maria’s mouth went dry at the look of it. Even now, her heart longed for gold. Would she never be free of that?

“Is it full?” She asked absently, bringing herself back to the present. She would not put it past the Captain to send her home with an empty chest. Perhaps with a witty note inside it.

Charlotte frowned a little. She looked much better than she had in the armoury when Anna-Maria had ceded victory to her and the Captain. More self-certain. “Yes, I have checked. Do not worry. The Captain is a man of his word, after all. Did you know he went to Eton?”

 _My foolish, clever, brave sister, so easily tricked._ Thinking of Charlotte that way grated on her; it was like trying to perceive the sky as red. But she could not deny that somewhere along the lines, she became the cleverer Westwood daughter. So odd, had she not always been the fool; strung along by passion, always late to everything, heedless of warnings and common sense?

She did not know for certain whether she had changed, or her perceptions had. But either way, she knew that it was unkind of her to dwell on it, and it made her uncomfortable.

With effort, she put her bitterness aside. “This is goodbye, then.” she said softly.

Charlotte looked her up and down and reached to push a strand of hair out of her eyes. The familial gesture warmed her heart with love again. “Good luck, Anna. Go with God.”

Anna-Maria fought down the urge to beg her. And she did want to beg, in her weakness, to come home with her. But the shred of altruism she possessed prevented her from doing it. “And you. If you ever see William and Henry, will you give them my love?”

Charlotte nodded. She took a step away, then jolted to a halt. A pained look flashed across her face as she turned back to her and said brokenly, “I tried, you know, Anna. I tried so hard to love you, I even succeeded.”

Tears threatened to spill but she kept them at bay somehow. She would not break down at this last moment with her, no matter how wounded she was. She made a noise that might have sounded like an assent, but could do no more.

For a moment, Charlotte looked as if she would cry as well. Then she turned and with fierce strides, she went down the gangplank. The pirates with their heavy chest went down after her. Every step she took away from the ship lent a little more confidence to her demeanour, until she had her imperial look back again. Anna-Maria smiled through her grief to see it. No sooner was Charlotte on land than the Captain had spotted her and waved her grandly to a black coach that waited by the docks. Not sparing him a glance, she climbed in and slammed the door closed without further ado.

Sharing one last handshake to his cohort, the Captain came up the gangplank and was by her side a moment later. They both looked upon the carriage as the crew continued to unload the ship of her stolen riches.

Now that Charlotte was not here to see her, her self control was ebbing. She was alone. Really, truly alone. She had been left behind. She heard sobbing and realised it was coming from her. Mortified, she pressed her hands to her mouth to stifle the heartbroken sound, and was surprised when the Captain wordlessly offered her a handkerchief. She took it stiffly and pressed it to her face, noting the initials J.H emblazoned on one corner.  

Why was he here to see her cry in the first place? Didn’t he have work to be doing? “You are here to gloat, I take it?” Her voice was heavy with loss and irritation both.

“Me, gloat?” He protested innocently. “Once again, you wound me.”

Anna-Maria watched with mournful resignation as the horses pulled the carriage away from the docks. “Was it difficult?” She asked, still not taking her eyes from the carriage as it left her behind.

“Was what difficult, Miss Westwood? Convincing the dogs to do a hard day’s work? It always is.”

She had to force the words out. “Convincing my sister to leave me behind. Was it difficult.” Charlotte could open the window. She could choose to look at her one last time. She could.

The Captain shifted beside her. “Terribly so. Wild horses could not have dragged her from you.”

Anna-Maria closed her eyes in pain. Could he not have lied convincingly, the one time she needed it?

“It is best this way, you know.”

Was he trying to console her? Surely not. “Best for her, you mean.”

“And for you. You will not have to watch her grow old. And you shall not need to live a half-life amongst your inferiors, pretending to be something you are not.” Charlotte’s carriage was gone now. She had not opened the window.

It was done. They stood in silence for a while as Anna-Maria struggled to compose herself. It was one thing to decide upon a course of action, to know it was right even if it was hard, but it was another to watch it happen. It hurt more than she would have thought possible.

“If you would go, go now, while there is still plenty of light.” The Captain said.

That got her attention. “Go?”

“Of course. We sail at dawn, with the tide. We will be restocking the ship and I have things to attend to in town. You could go now, whether for buying your own things, or forever, it is your choice.”

Anna-Maria wrenched her gaze from the street to meet his gaze. Would he really let her leave? Would there be no need to plunge herself into the harbour to escape?

“You would allow it?” She said slowly, trying to make sure she understood him.

“Allow it?” He gave a short laugh. “We are in society now, or what passes for it here. If you were to leave, how could I stop you without being seen? One cry from you would bring all kinds of self-righteous gentlemen and constables to your aid. Besides, if I had wanted to keep you against your will, I would have thrown you back in the brig the moment we saw land.”

She flinched to hear him speak of the brig, even in passing. But she knew that was he was saying made some sense, barbarism aside. He would not keep her prisoner if she wanted to leave. Did she want to leave?

His voice gentled, seeing her indecision. “If you wish it, go now. I only say this; those of us who have looked upon the well must never try to reveal its location, or our abilities, to the common folk. It will go very badly for you if you are found out.”

She felt her tentacles twitch, and his cold eyes flickered up to her hair. Damn. She would have to master the things somehow. “I do not take kindly to being threatened.”

He frowned deeply at her accusation. “I do no such thing. The well defends itself. Divulge its secrets at your peril.”

If she had not been mourning, she might have been drawn into curiosity by that statement, but she could not bring herself to enquire further. She would never wish to reveal what the well had done to her, anyway. But she did very much want to walk on land one last time. Her tentacles grew longer with each passing week. For all she knew, by the time they came to civilisation again she might be too much a monster to be seen by anyone but the crew. This was her chance. It might be her last chance. She turned from him to look at land in longing.

“Here.”

The Captain had a heavy pouch in his hand. He jiggled it in front of her when she did nothing. “Go on. Take it, Miss Westwood, before I change my mind. It is my whiskey money. Buy whatever you like.”

She took it with astonishment. “What are you doing?”

He smiled. “Making a bet. Go. Long Eye, George, Miss Westwood will be leaving us. Accompany her.” The men snapped to attention and were by her side in moments. At her disapproving look, he further said, “You will be her guards, but do not interfere with her affairs. If the lady wishes to be seen to a coach or left alone, do it. You will obey her commands as if they are my own.” The edge in his voice made it very clear that he would not tolerate failure from them.

She looked down at the pouch, and up at him. She did not know what to say. “I, well, I suppose I should-”

Softly, he said, “Go now. If you would leave, I cannot stop you.”

She could hardly believe what was happening. She stepped away from him and headed for the gangway. She could feel his gaze on her back and when she glanced back at him, he gave her a brief nod before staring out at the docks filled with his stolen riches. He looked as proud as she had ever seen him, like a king surveying his kingdom.

Pirates all around her ducked their heads and said their farewells as she passed them. She saw Mr Bell among them and clasped his hand briefly, hoping he would understand how sorry she was for endangering him with her reckless mutiny. He smiled and urged her on. “Good luck, Lady.” He whispered.

She looked at the gangway nervously. A few steps and she would be off the ship. Free to go wherever she chose. Free at last. What would that be like? She smiled. She wanted to find out. Her losses seemed distant to her now.

She kept her head high as she glided down the plank, not only to look more certain than she felt but so she could not gaze upon the water. She knew there were no sharks in the harbour, but she would take no chances.

Her first step on land was not a promising one; George had to take her arm as she pitched forward. “Tis only your sea legs, Lady. Walk slowly, so you can get used to solid ground again.” She was not used to such kindness from him, and gratefully accepted his advice and his arm as she walked slowly in the direction of the street.

Finally, she was on land. She beamed with joy. But now she was here, she did not know where to go. She turned to look back at the crew who she almost considered friends. They looked so forlorn she almost felt sorry for them. More than one of them was even _crying_. She gave them a last wave goodbye as she went.

She knew little of business and less of Plymouth, which she had never visited before , but even she could see that trade was booming. It was not just commonplace things being sold here, but cotton, sugar and tobacco too. The docks were filled with bawling women farewelling their men, people arguing with the harbourmaster, and sailors racing to and fro with goods. The smell of fish and sweat was so heavy in the air that if she had not known the Brig, she might have been ill. As it was, it was almost refreshing.

By the time her feet hit the cobblestones of the streets, she could feel the presence of the sharks in her thoughts grow dim. The confusion from the creatures was tangible to her as they tried to hold onto her thoughts, but every step she took from the sea weakened the connection until with a final lurch they were gone. She exhaled in a rush as the stifling pressure she had grown used to was gone, and she was no-one but herself. She could not keep the smile from her face. The burden of the beasts had been lifted, no, she had lifted it, for she had brought herself here under her own power. She was filled with a boundless energy and walked as carefree as a child.

Land was strange to look at. Civilisation seemed so… full. After leagues and leagues of the empty sea, seeing carts and cobblestones and marketplaces was eerie, and seemed almost as unreal as the treasure of the Siren. Winding her way through the clean if hectic streets was an adventure, in its own way, to her starved mind and eyes. For all she was robbed of her future and felt more than a little disorientated by all the noise, being back on land was a wonder for her now.

Most everyone she saw was a sailor, but there were others of all origins, classes and professions. Many of them giving her strange and offended looks because of her boy’s clothes, but none challenged her. Not yet, anyway. She had never liked being looked at with distaste, but she took courage from the presence of Long Eyed Pete and George behind her, for at least they were people she knew.

“You are walking normally, Lady.” George acknowledged gruffly. She looked down at her feet and realised she was no longer swaying in the ridiculous way she had been before. She took her arm from his with a smile of gratitude, at which he coughed and looked uncomfortable.

After her initial levity had passed a little she noticed that everyone who saw her looked panicked and gave her a wide berth, which was strange in such busy streets. There was a moment of sheer terror as she thought immediately of her mutation. Had one of her tentacles slipped out? She patted the tall bun she had made of her hair, but could feel nothing out of the ordinary. Then she glanced behind her  and saw Long Eyed Pete and George looking very serious, with squared shoulders and deep scowls. George in particular had a thunderous look as he glared at every man, woman, and barrel of fish that he saw. She considered asking them to appear a little less threatening, but then she caught them grinning at each other and she realised that they were very proud of themselves for being such good protectors, so she left them to it.

“Where shall we go, Pete?” She asked jovially. They had left the docks and were in the town proper, and she could see all manner of shops and cafes everywhere. She wanted to explore every one of them. How had she ever taken all the possibilities of land for granted before she left home for sea?

Pete looked thoughtful, “Well, Lady, there is a little-”

“The Captain said not to interfere with her business, Long Eye. Let the Lady make up her own mind.” George said, his scowl diffused and the hulking pirate looked almost apologetic. “The Captain is very strict with his orders, Lady. Even the smallest misstep on our part… You understand.”

She did. If one intended to survive as a crewman on the Jolly Roger for more than a fortnight, one had to be very careful. “Yes, of course. My apologies. I suppose...” She looked around her with wide eyes. She spotted a coffee house that looked cheery and not too busy. All sorts of people, rich and poor alike, were talking animatedly inside, and she thought that if there was anywhere that three peculiar characters such as themselves might be welcome, it would be in a coffee-house. “There will do, for now. While I make up my mind.”

“Make up your mind, Lady?” Pete asked as they walked in. She took a deep breath; it smelled wonderful. She paid their admittance in a single gold coin she hastily pulled out from the purse. After that, the attendants did not seem overly concerned by their less than stellar appearance and showed them swiftly to a seat. “You will not be returning to the ship, will you?”

She was too busy rifling for the Captain’s purse to answer. It was filled with gold pieces, loose gemstones and even a golden earring sporting what looked very much like a ruby to her discerning eye. “Pete, for heaven’s sake, how much whiskey does the Captain drink?” She cried out in astonishment.

“Best keep your voice down, Lady.” George suggested, eyes flickering over everyone else in the room. Anna-Maria flinched.

“Sorry George. But really,” she continued in a whisper, leaning towards the men so they could hear her better, “this is enough to…” She stopped. Enough to buy a house somewhere, probably. She did not exactly know how much money was worth. Being the spoiled daughter of a wealthy man, money had never really been an object when it came to getting what she wanted. It had been one of the many reasons why gambling had affected her so badly, she had not known the value of what she was betting, or what everyone else was betting. But she knew enough to understand that this would be a small fortune to a lower class of person. Perhaps the Captain had not known how much was in the purse? But that seemed unlikely, even to her. Despite Charlotte’s claims otherwise, Anna-Maria thought that he cared for money very much, or at least, the prestige and luxury that money could buy him.  

Regardless of his reasons, at least now she would not have to count her pennies while she was on land. She smiled and ordered enough cakes and pastries to feed ten hungry men. She even bought three prohibitively expensive hot chocolates for them to share. The Captain had said the money was hers to spend as she wished, after all.

The men looked over her shoulder and stiffened. She turned to see one of the patrons had approached their table. The man wore a powdered wig and a frock coat, and bowed before introducing himself. “Lady, do forgive my interruption and poor manners, but my companions and I must know what you mean by your dress. Some form of political expression? A philosophy?”

She laughed. “Oh no, sir, simply a joke among friends. Think nothing of it.”

She could understand his thinking well. Coffee houses were places to talk of ideas and learning, and they were almost exclusively all-male establishments. For a woman to come here dressed as she was would be seen as an incentive to debate, to say the least. Though the freedom of expression granted in such establishments was so extreme that it was clearly allowed. At least, for a gold piece, it was.

He was visibly disappointed. “That is a shame. I was hoping for something more exciting. Are you sure you’re not a Whig, at least?”

She could only laugh and shake her head, though she was a Whig if she was anything. She had no desire to fan the flames of intrigue any further, however, and the young fop departed.

A short while later, their mountain of food and delicious smelling beverages were brought to the table. She had finished off three slices of cake before the edge of her hunger was dulled. She never felt truly full now, she realised. Perhaps this was a side effect of drinking from the Fountain. Captain Hook always ate such huge meals, after all. She had assumed it had all been part of his act but there might have been genuine need of it.

She remembered that Pete had asked her a question before she had been side tracked by the Captain’s ridiculous purse and the politically minded Mr . “Pete, you were asking before about whether or not I would return to the ship. As things are, I cannot live on land. Even if things with my sister were not as they are, I would not be able to stay here forever. Providing Captain Hook keeps his word, I shall abide on the ship for a while.” Both of them looked surprised at that, and she knew then that they had never expected her to go back with them.

Bemused, she took a bite of an apple pastry and sighed with pleasure. “Go on, I bought it for us to share.” The boys shot her incredulously grateful looks and attacked the food. She could not help but smile at their enthusiasm. “After my recent episode, I have grown again. My- you know. My deformity. At this rate, I will not be able to live on land as anything other than a freak to be laughed at. I have my pride, you know, despite everything. I could not stay here for long, and then where would I go? My sister will not have me. And I have no-one else.” Not with Henry happily and safely married to another woman, anyway.

Pete looked at her over his cup, “So you’ll be going back? The crew will be so happy, Lady.”

George said through a mouthful of cake. “And the Captain.”

She frowned but said nothing at George’s strange statement. This was an act of necessity, for the most part. She was not doing this for anyone’s benefit other than Charlotte’s and her own. Though she had to admit that she enjoyed this side of the crew. It was the murderous, pillaging side of them that she did not enjoy as well. But she could hardly see these two as the pirates they were now. Even cautious George had warmed up by the time he was done with his hot chocolate.

By the time they were done, Anna-Maria felt almost full and Pete and George looked fit to burst. Some of the other patrons looked at her with open astonishment and whispered to one another about her remarkable appetite. Oh dear, she had not been very subtle, had she? How had she ever thought that she would be able to keep her freakishness a secret if she could not even eat without raising eyebrows?

The respite had given her time to think. “We have hours before nightfall and we shall probably need every moment of it to purchase everything I will need. If I am to live on the Jolly Roger, I must have something to do. I have always hated being idle.”

Pete’s eyes lit up with excitement, “You could always tell-”

She knew exactly what he was about to say and did not want a repeat of the tumult in her dressing room. She was attracting enough attention as it was. “No, Pete, I will not be the ships storyteller, and that is final. No. I was thinking that perhaps I could buy some paper and paints for drawing, and a few novels to read. And I will need clothes if I am to be decent. These mens clothes are not without merit I suppose, but I look ridiculous.”

Pete looked as if he was about to protest but George slapped his big hand over his mouth as he enunciated slowly, “Whatever you say, lady. Where you go is your business.” At this he gave Pete a very pointed look. “Where to first, lady?”

She smiled at George’s quick-thinking. “Clothes first, I think. There will not be time to have anything tailored. Though perhaps you men could do it for me later, I have seen the fine work you have made of your costumes. Quickly, let us be off, we have so much to do.”

The few hours passed in a flurry as she tried to achieve what should have taken weeks of planning. At some point in her journey to a find a decent tailor she stubbed her toe on a broken cobblestone and was mortified to see that she was walking the streets of Plymouth still unshod. She was so horribly embarrassed that she bolted into a shoemakers and bought several pairs of shoes, heedless of how much they cost her.

After that she made her way to a tailor’s shop and things progressed much faster. Not having any idea what a female living aboard a pirate ship permanently should wear, she ignored her longing for the various satin gowns she saw and told the tailor that she needed travelling clothes. Almost immediately, he recommended an outlandish style with an unstiffened bodice called a brunswick. He delicately assured her that it was becoming fashionable as ‘Active daywear for ladies.’ To her it seemed terribly informal, but she was convinced when she saw the garment had a hood and took two, one in blue and the other in a gold that she knew would flatter her darker complexion. They were not so finely made as the gowns she was used to, but she would have to be content with the practicality of the things. She selected a velvet cape, a few petticoats, stockings and dressing gowns and gave the tailor a substantial chunk of her money. With the help of one of his assistants, she was able to walk out of the store looking like a woman again. The dress turned out to be both comfortable and flattering enough to assuage her vanity for now.

She saw a wig-makers shop across the street and looked longingly at the wigs she could see through the shutters before reminding herself that she could just draw up her hood for now instead. Besides, she thought ruefully, proper wigs cost such a fortune that she did not know if she could afford it without emptying the Captain’s purse completely. She would not settle for animal hair.

It was almost evening by the time she made it to the book-seller. She was the only woman present and drew many curious looks because of it. While wealthy women were often well read, it was not normal for a woman to buy books herself. That was what servants were for. She heard one older man snort with disbelief at the sight of her and raised her chin haughtily. Not knowing much about books she simply bought what she recognised from her Father’s library and what she had observed her female friends to read; a selection of the classics (Virgil, Homer and the like) as well as several modern novels, a treatise on philosophy and natural science for ladies and several books written by travelers. Surely one of them could help keep her occupied. The men were groaning under the weight of their burdens at this point, so she decided that would be enough for now.

She looked up at the dusky sky and made her decision. “We will have to stay in a tavern overnight. Do you know of one that is-” How to say this delicately? “Reputable?” What she really meant was, was there an inn nearby that she could sleep in without fear of being murdered in her sleep and her new belongings stolen?

George nodded and began to lead the way down the street. She felt cautiously optimistic that when she returned to the ship tomorrow things would be better than what they had been. The Captain’s purse had not bought her good graces, but she could not help but feel a little more secure on the ship if she could dress properly and have something to do with her time other than look out of her window. Besides, she had always enjoyed spending someone else’s money and today had been no different.

Pete piped up from behind her. “Beggin’ your pardon Lady, but if we are to go back to the Jolly Roger, shouldn’t we go back now? Not that I am questioning your instructions.”

His manner reminded her of how life used to be, with servants running around after her every whim. Of course servants had rarely questioned her, but there was something reassuring about the return to normalcy.

“Have no fear Pete,” she teased, “You will return to your Master tomorrow. I only want to sleep in a real bed for once.” _And I cannot miss my chance to sleep on land for the last time._

Pete looked as if he were about to argue the point, then changed his mind with a smile. “You’ll be up at dawn anyway, Lady. Never known a woman to rise so early.”

He was right. She was up before the sun rose, most days.

George lead her to a tavern that looked reasonably clean and seemed frequented by a decent class of person, in that most of its patrons were both clothed and sober enough to stand. Luckily there were enough rooms available that she could buy a room for herself and another for the boys.

“Knock on the door before dawn. We cannot miss the tide.” She instructed them firmly as she wished them goodnight. They would likely be out drinking all night, and that was their own business, but she did not want to have to wake them because they had been up too late.

And with that, she was alone. The room was large compared to what she had been living in recently, and it had a real bed in it. Granted the mattress was made of straw, but it was a bed nonetheless.

She sighed with satisfaction. The day had been tiring, but she had gotten a great deal done. When she returned to the ship tomorrow, she would be dressed decently, and she would at least have things to do. She suspected that she might become better read on a pirate ship than what she ever would have been at home.

As she sat down, a terrible idea occurred to her, as if it had been waiting all day to get her alone.

She could do anything she liked now. She was her own woman, with money in her purse. And there would be gambling here. Sailors were notorious for it, and Plymouth was a maritime town.

She wouldn’t. That would be stupid. She had resisted the call of the Siren, hadn’t she? It had been months since she had bet so much as a penny. The captain of the _Sweet Wind_ had not permitted gambling on his ship, since he had been a strictly religious man and believed gambling to be a terrible sin, and the crew of the Jolly Roger had never gambled around her. It had been months. She did not need it any longer, so she told herself as she stared at the door. She had not blinked.  

Even as she tried to hold herself back from doing something very foolish, her heart and her imagination began to race, and she wondered what games low class people played. Not whist, for certain, though her luck at whist had always been bad, so that would be not great loss. Something simple, maybe? She might have to learn a new game, and that was always dangerous. She had been bled dry that way before.

No, she would not do it. After Father died, she had lost so much of the money left to them that way. Going down that path had led her here, cursed and monstrous.

 _But_ , her baser self argued slyly, _surely they would not be betting for much_? Surely one or two coins from the Captain’s purse would see her through many games? What was the harm in betting so little when she still had rubies to spare? Besides, the money wasn’t even hers in the first place. What did she have to lose?

She had barely been on land for a few hours and already the fixation was starting again. She felt it niggling frantically at the corner of her mind, trying to find any foothold it could. She shook her head. No. No. She would not. Hadn’t Charlotte left her behind for this very reason? Hadn’t all of her worst troubles started with this?

She would be better. She would prove Charlotte wrong. She could prove William wrong too. She did not have to be the same sad sinful woman that she had been for so long now. She could defeat this, and finally have some pride in herself again. What would that feel like? She smiled as she imagined it. She would go back to the Jolly Roger a woman who had conquered her demons.

But, now that she thought on it, she needed a walk very badly. Just an quiet walk through the streets. It would help her take her mind off things. When would she have this chance again, to walk through civilisation? She would only be gone a few minutes. It would do no harm, she thought as she pulled the hood of her dress over her head.

And so the longing inside of her had its way. It always did. Having planted the idea of a walk in her head, it moved her like a puppet and off she went, licking her lips as she walked across the room to grab the purse, through the door, down the stairs and out into the night.

The streets were still busy even at this late hour, though populated by a more sordid type of person. Men called to her, but she barely even saw them. As much as she tried to believe she was only out for a walk, disappointment in herself was already settling in her stomach, even as her thoughts grew giddier. Her fingers twitched at her sides. She was not here to walk, and she knew it. She felt like a theatre-goer crying out as she watched a tragedy. It was unfolding before her, but she could do nothing to prevent it. She wanted to, she even tried to, but she could not turn around, and the part of her that wanted to go back to her room shrank more and more with every step she took.

From the outside all taverns looked the same to her, so she picked one at random. Her control was lost and she did not even hesitate as she open the door, and in moments she was inside. It was dirty and cramped, and the rafters hung low. But it was very busy, every table was filled and almost every inch of standing space was taken up with laughing, shouting people. She had to squeeze through the crowd just to find the table she was looking for. It was strange how she knew by some instinct almost exactly where she would find them, as if the vice itself called out to her.

The four men set at cards, they were unfashionably dressed but did not look poor. They were clean and even wore wigs, though they looked of low quality. They would do. Right now, anyone would do. If they had been half drunk beggars playing at dice, she would have sat down with them.

She could not stop smiling. It was really going to happen. She was finally going to give in. She let go of her dignity and her ambitions of bettering herself with a happy sigh. She could no more have stayed away than she could have plucked the moon out of the sky. Her guilt was gone, a distant stranger to her. Now she felt only euphoria, joy bubbling up from her chest and shining out through her skin. Finally she would be alive again. She pushed through the crowd, oblivious to everyone she knocked down and all the looks she was getting.

As she drew closer, she heard the men at the table speaking French. One of them saw her and nudged his fellows. They looked up at her, some with desire and others with caution. She knew full well what they were thinking. She was no Charlotte, but she knew that men thought her beautiful, and beautiful women approaching men in taverns were usually after something else entirely.

Luckily, Anna-Maria spoke French almost as well as they did; another benefit of her Father’s money.

She quickly assured them that she was only here to play. “Bonsoir, Messieurs! Est-ce que, c’est un jeu privé ou je peux prendre participer au jeu?” _“Good evening, gentlemen, is this a private game, or may I join you?”_

She had to repeat her intentions, since none of them could manage a reply. Then the leader found his tongue and told her politely that they were halfway through a game, but they would let her play a round once that was done. If she had the money, of course. She assured them that she did.

The Frenchmen took the oddity that was a spanish woman speaking french with an english accent well in stride once she summoned a servant girl to bring her a bottle of good wine and plates of decent food for the table. At that, their reservations seemed to vanish. She knew they were not rich enough to refuse an offer of food, and the wine was a gesture of camaraderie, or at least that was how she justified it to herself. Truly, she had always enjoyed a glass and the giddiness it brought her. She poured herself a glass, then a glass for the frenchmen and they thanked her. They were becoming friendlier by the minute.

She had the common sense to watch as they played so she could get some grip of the rules. The game was some sort of variation of _vingt-et-un_ , which she was quite familiar with. The cards looked a little different, but the rest of it seemed much the same, and the men explained it to her generously as they went along. Even to her unskilled eyes, she thought that two of the players were very bad, though the other two might give her trouble. Her heart was galloping and she took another sip of the wine. She could do this. Tonight was the night she won herself a fortune. Or at least, the night she walked away with more than what she had begun with.

By the time they were wrapping up their game, she was halfway through the bottle, though she felt completely in command of herself. In fact, looking suspiciously at her glass, she knew that she did not feel drunk at all. Was the wine weak, or had she become more immune to it since drinking of the wishing well? She finished the bottle off with an air of disappointment. Was she to be as sober as a judge in her supernatural state? No matter, she thought with a grin, there would be other pleasures for her.

The cards were dealt and this time she was in. The men were betting with coins, of course, but did it really matter if she threw her gems in? She could not lose tonight. She did not see the looks they gave her riches, she was too distracted by the dizzy pleasure of holding cards in her hands again. Why had she ever tried to resist? Now that she had the Captain’s money, she could play without fear of debts. There would be no siblings to chastise and criticise her now. Henry had already gone and married someone else, someone he could rely on not to embarrass him. What was left? She was alone, but that meant the freedom to do as she chose.

Anna-Maria won the first game, to the good-natured curses of the frenchmen. She won the next too, but then things turned sour. The luck that had favoured her in her first games shunned her now. As the night grew late, she lost more and more, and grew more frustrated as she tried to make her luck turn and win back what she had lost. Before long, she was scrambling to regain that wonderful feeling she had when she first sat down. It was like trying to catch a sunbeam when the rains had come.

The frenchmen pocketed her jewels with commiserating smiles and sympathetic noises, but it was no use, the dream had died again. Her joy fled and now she felt only a deep weariness and the first stirrings of shame. She excused herself from the table only because she had no jewellery to bet, or anything else of value aside from the clothes she wore. She had more control over herself than that, at least.

She had to leave. She pushed through the crowd with single-minded desperation and fell back against the door of the inn as soon as she was out of it, furiously wiping away the tears that had started to flow. How could she be so stupid, so reckless? She firmly thudded the back of her head against the door. It did not hurt. She thudded harder, and ignored the curses she heard inside the inn.

She felt as though she had run for miles, she was so tired by the tumult of her emotions. She had done it again. She had met everyone’s low expectations of her again. Disappointment clouded everything. What had she been thinking? She had known exactly what would happen if she left her room. Why couldn’t she have stopped herself? Why could she never stop herself?

She staggered into the street. If she stayed any longer, she knew she might find something else to bet with. She needed to put as much distance as she could between her and this horrible place. She was so distracted by her crying and her despairing thoughts that she ran straight into someone. She muttered an apology and tried to step aside, gaze turned down, but the person sidestepped to stand in her path. It was a man. She felt cold fear wash over her as she looked up to see… George?

A different kind of fear began to take root. She laughed nervously, as if she had not just been crying. “George, I didn’t see you, what are you doing here?”

In answer, he only looked at the inn behind her. Oh no. Had he seen through the windows? Had her seen her? “I was just-” She fumbled for an excuse to explain why she had left her room in the dead of night to walk halfway across town, only to find herself in another inn. It wasn’t a normal sort of thing for a woman to do and George looked at the inn behind her suspiciously. How much had he guessed?

“It’s not my business what you do.” He finally grumbled, though he did not seem happy. “Are you hurt? You’re crying. Did anyone in there hurt you?”

She thought of the frenchmen back in the crowded room, counting all her riches. She was so ashamed that she felt almost nauseous. God, even despite everything she had spent today, it had been so much money. Had she ever lost so much in one sitting? How they must be laughing at her. “No,” she said, though she thought she had been hurt, and very badly too, “I am fine. Take me back to my room, George. Please.” He nodded and led her down the street. She was pathetically glad that he was there with her, and linked her arm with his.

“Where is Pete?” She asked. She did not really care; her instinct for self-preservation had made her callous. She would say anything to distract George from thinking about what she had been doing in there.

His tone was disinterested. “Probably sound asleep in bed, where I left him. I knocked on your door when I realised I hadn’t heard you screaming once all night.” She thought she could see him peering at her out of the corner of his eyes. “I should have come sooner. The Captain would kill me if he heard you were- Well, whatever happened to you in there. Should I go back and kill anyone?” He asked it so naturally, and she remembered that George, for all his love of chocolate, was a pirate. Unarmed or not, she had every confidence in how dangerous he could be.

“No, please don’t. Only, don’t tell anyone about tonight, will you?” She hated how tremulous her voice was.

He did not even think about it. “If the Captain asks, I will tell him anything. I am his crewman. But if he doesn’t ask, I won’t tell him. You have my word on it.”

It would have to do. She could expect no more of him. He had been kind enough already.

It did not take long for him to lead her back to their tavern. He showed her into her room and gruffly warned her that the sun would be up soon, so she had better get some rest. She was asleep the moment she laid down upon the bed. Exhaustion trumped guilt and self-loathing, for now at least. The comfort of being able to stretch out her legs was heavenly and she was so used to sleeping on a trunk that any bed felt marvelous. She slept deeply and without waking, not even by her dreams of being devoured.

She awoke to a hammering at her door, and fumbled it open to find Pete and George looking with horror at her in her rumpled dress. She blinked at them blearily, still half asleep.

“Lady,” Pete stammered, “It is almost dawn. We thought you would be ready.”

Damn. George gave her a knowing look. He did not have to say that if they had not woken her up, her activities from the night before would have made them miss the tide.

“Gentlemen, get my things. We must move quickly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this chapter, and as always, please feel free to give us your thoughts and ask any questions you have via PM or review. I am very sorry it has taken so long to update, we’ve had a broken laptop and a nasty stomach bug to deal with, but all is well now!
> 
> As of next chapter, I will be changing my A03 account name to TheRedWave, as EshnyDreamer was only ever intended as a temporary name until I could think of something better. 
> 
> The next few chapters are ready for editing now and should be up soonish. 
> 
>  
> 
> Hello dear readers! Bosun Marcella here! I am sorry for the late update as well, the broken laptop was my fault… But here it is! I think Eshny did an amazing job with this chapter, we’ve finally seen Anna-Maria’s gambling problems! Did it shock you much? It did shock me when I first read it. I can’t wait to help her putting the other chapters online! See you next time Xx


	14. OS Anna-Maria

 

Once upon a time, there lived a girl who had everything she ever wanted. As if this wasn’t bad enough, the girl did whatever she liked.

Her Father had wealth beyond all expectations of his birth, and she had no mother to guide or scold her. The household servants and her siblings were powerless to speak out whenever she was irresponsible, wild or improper. For didn’t she look just like her dearly departed mother? The girl was not stupid, and she was swift to learn exactly how to appear convincingly sorry and swear that she would make amends. At least, she learned how to do so well enough to fool her doting Father, if no-one else.

Even discounting her Father’s devotion, since she was the youngest child of the four and the family was so very wealthy, what did it matter if she was late to her lessons or did not attend them at all? Was it really so bad that she laughed too long and too loud and danced wild dances, or met in private with her fiance? She was adored by all who knew her, even if it was mostly under duress, and her Father would hear no talk of discipline or punishment for anything she did. Besides, it is patently true that what might be seen as inexcusable for a woman of middling wealth can be easily overlooked in the daughter of a man with more money than most landed gentry.

Even when the family trade did not flourish as once it had, and the Father’s long-suffered grief for the death of his wife and his dear little son led him to excess, there were still rubies and silks and tobacco in their warehouses. And so the girl who had everything remained exactly that.

And then, of course, the Father died.

The girl was stricken with despair and her life came apart. Her remaining sister and brother, who had been forced into silence throughout all her years of misbehaviour, were suddenly free to intervene and try to save her from herself. But the damage had already been done. Try as they might to force her to her lessons, and to books and contemplation, the flower had been overgrown by weeds. The girl only resented their restrictions, their sighs and cold stares. She who had been lavished with praise and love for all her life couldn’t seem to do anything right anymore, and she could not understand why.

Desperate for joy and freedom, the girl fell into bad company, the kind who preys on unstable, sad people. Whether they deliberately sought her out to lead her astray and into debt, or whether it was mere happy chance on their part, is hard to say. Either way, it was not long at all until she was led to the same deprivations and excesses that had played so large a role in the death of her Father.

She was, at this time, only nineteen years old.

The situation grew worse by the day. For a long time, she did not even understand how she had been played. By the time she did, it was too late to turn away. Eventually one of her siblings, the family’s last son and heir to the remnants of their fortune, left her to reap the consequences of her mistakes.

Somehow, she managed to fall into worse company still. Murderers. Seditionists. _Pirates._

As soon as she was able, her sister left her too, motivated by bitterness and greed and the machinations of a cunning man.

The girl who had once had everything was now orphaned and alone.

Dear reader, answer me this.

If a person such as this, so dependent on love and yet so cut off from it, could be offered acceptance and adoration from even such a poor source as a group of pirates, would she take it? Would she ignore all the sage, sanctimonious advice of her lost siblings and throw in her lot with these wicked, evil men? Or would she seek redemption, even if it were the harder road?

If you were in her place, would you?

 

 

* * *

 

 

Anna-Maria, George and Pete set off through the streets of Plymouth at a dead run. There were few people awake at this hour except drunkards and sailors moving to the docks, but she threw up her hood nonetheless as a precaution. Her shame at her disgraceful behaviour the night before was pushed to the side for now. She had more pressing things to worry about, like what would become of her if Captain Hook had sailed away, leaving her penniless on the streets of Plymouth with nothing to sell but her already compromised virtue.

By the time they had reached the docks, poor George and Pete could barely keep up with her. She recognised the Jolly Roger from a distance and headed straight for it. The sun was rising and the stars were fading from the sky. But the ship was still there. Would her pirates be happy to see her; Mr Bell, Smee, Half Dead Jack and all the rest? And she did think of them as hers, motley bunch of murderous man-children that they were. Only she could have found herself comfortable with such a wild group of men. Charlotte would have laughed, if she had known. Or perhaps not. She likely would have disapproved.

Despite going back to a place that had once been her prison, she could not say she was unhappy. If anything, she was glad that her refuge had not left without her. By the exclamations of Pete, she could tell he was surprised the ship had not sailed out to sea already. The sky over the sea was blazing with the rising sun and silhouetted against it she could see the Jolly Roger, sleek and dangerous, even with her cannons hidden away. The pirate ship that had somehow become her refuge.

Warring with her confused gladness at the sight of the ship was the pressing nearness of the sharks again. They received her into the fold of their hateful minds with gibbering glee and she almost staggered under the turmoil of their thoughts.

For the first time, she heard one address her directly, perhaps a leader, if sharks had such things. _“Man thing returns from above. Swim with us. Hunt.”_ She stumbled and nearly fell over in shock as the disjointed words were shunted into her mind. God, the creatures could commune with her any time they liked. Did that mean they could make her lose control of herself now, if they wanted to? The shark must have felt her fear, for she could feel resentment mixing with amusement as it fell silent. She had not said anything to it in reply. At least, she thought she had not.

She hesitated for the smallest moment as she reached the edge of the docks before pressing onwards. She had come too far to run away now. She heard the sound of cheering as she walked up the gangway and smiled. Had anyone ever made that sound for her before this moment? Even if they were a bunch of thieving murderers, she knew then that she loved them. Pirates called out warm welcomes to her as they raced about.  A few of them were singing as they climbed up the mast of the ship, hauled on ropes and generally made themselves useful. Her belly curdled with unease at the sound of the Captain’s voice bellowing something about getting them windward. The gangway was withdrawn the moment George and Pete stepped foot on the deck, and both of them bolted down the stairs to put her things away without so much as a ‘by your leave’. She knew they were not being rude. They were probably eager to help the rest of the crew.

Smee sent a smile her way and quickly said, “Good to see you, Miss Maria. We thought you wouldn’t come back.” Before she could reply, he was scampering off to yell at other pirates.

Was it just her imagination, or were there a lot of pirates on deck she had never seen before? Several of them scowled, leered or outright cursed at the sight of her. She heard whispers of ‘bad luck’ and felt her good mood waver. It seemed that the Captain had taken on new men after all. She had not considered how that might affect her.

Still in his disguise as a law-abiding sea captain, Captain Hook stood on the deck, impatiently watching a group of men disappearing beneath the sheets that hid Long Tom. He smirked at the sight of her.

“Ah, Miss Westwood, how good of you to join us at last.” His expression became a little pained. “I take it that there is not even a single bottle of whiskey in all those parcels?”

She had no idea how to answer that, so she ignored the question altogether. “I was... delayed. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be going to my room.”

He did not give her the chance to make a dignified escape. “If you have not yet eaten, I have a proposition for you. Would you join me for breakfast this morning?”

_How ominous._ And why was he being polite? He only behaved decently that when he wanted something. He must be up to something, but she did not think she could refuse him. She tried to hide her anxiety at the prospect. “Certainly.”

She could almost feel the smugness coming off of him in waves at her begrudging assent. “Then I will see you in my chambers in a quarter hour, Miss Westwood.”

So soon? “A quarter hour? The ship is not yet cast off. Surely her Captain will be needed on deck.”

His mood became flirtatious in an instant and he flashed his teeth in a lupine grin. “Why Miss Westwood, you flatter me. But Mr Smee and Saltson can handle something so commonplace as this.”

She had barely been on the ship for five minutes and already she could feel him maneuvering her. Could he go even a minute without concocting some scheme? She left him standing on the deck without another word.

 

 

* * *

 

 

She opened the door to her dressing room to find it much changed.

Gone were all the trunks of pirates costumes, and the railings which the Captain’s clothes must have once hung from had been taken down. The parts of the walls that had been so damaged on the night of the caravel’s destruction had been covered up cunningly with paintings. Two of them were oil portraits of noblemen, or perhaps historical figures, she did not know for certain, but the others showed scenes of natural beauty that appealed to her more. She traced over them with a gentle hand. Though she was not an accomplished artist, she knew enough to see that they were of both high quality and expense.

She could see a little desk and a chair in the corner nearest the window. But most importantly, taking up a great deal of the room was a bed. It was very small; most men could not have hoped to fit in it, but it would be big enough for her. Better still, the sheets were fine silk and the pillows large enough for her to fall into.

She looked about her room with genuine happiness. It felt homely, with a quaint charm to it, despite how cramped it still was. She thought she could be happy here, now that it felt more like the quarters of a travelling lady and less like an impromptu prison. She could barely reconcile the little room where she had sat and concocted schemes of escape and mutiny with the room she stood in now. A sentimental tear rose to her eyes and she dashed it away.

On the bed was a large white box, beautifully wrapped and with a letter attached. She took up the letter and read the elegant writing;

 

_Dear Miss Westwood,_

_Welcome aboard. I hope you enjoy the bed. This way, perhaps at least one of us need not toss and turn._

_Being an astute woman, you will note that there is a trunk under the bed where you might keep your belongings._

_Your servant,_

_Captain Jas Hook_

 

Stifling her apprehension, she opened the box to find a large, wide brimmed hat with a green silk sash. The Captain had probably bought it for her; she could imagine no-one else on the ship to have the sense of style or the money to buy such a thing. Her hands explored it thoughtfully. It really was quite beautiful. She had forgotten to buy a hat in town and would make good use of it, even if it came from him. Her complexion was dark enough that she never burned, but it would look fine on her, and besides, she thought with glee, it would cover up her deformity very well.

It all signified something, though. He had known she would come back. He must have been certain of it, though the crew had believed they would not see her again. Well, he had won his little bet, for whatever satisfaction that must give him. She had nowhere else to go. At least she would be more comfortable from now on.

She felt the lurching of the ship and knew they had cast off. Through the boards she could hear the men singing one of their shanties.

There was a rapping on the door. She opened it and was grateful to see Saltson, and not one of the new pirates. “Breakfast is served, Lady.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Anna-Maria glanced surreptitiously around the Captain’s chambers, searching in vain for Smee. Perhaps he was with the rest of the men. She felt nervous to be here without Smee or any of her pirates around her, but she was not going to turn tail now. She had made her decision to stay aboard, at least until she found a better option, so at some point she was going to have to learn to tolerate the Captain’s company.

She tried very hard to keep that in mind as she sat opposite him in a cherub-gilded chair, feeling almost painfully awkward.

At the other end of the table, Captain Hook had withdrawn his maimed arm from his sling and looked more like himself with his namesake on display. His merchant-Captain’s guise was gone, and he was utterly a pirate again. His food had been pre-cut and he ate with only a fork, as if there was nothing abnormal about it.

Anna-Maria was able to control her hunger enough to eat with with good manners this time. She hid a smile when she saw a platter of roast beef placed near her, along with the customary salads.

“I like my new room.” She said without thinking. “The bed most of all. If I am going to spend the rest of eternity on a pirate ship, I would rather do so in comfort.”

He relaxed, relieved that she had broken the silence. “It will not be forever, Miss Westwood.”

“Oh?” So he knew that this was only a temporary measure on her part, then?

His brows drew together in a frown and he replied seriously, “No. You will die eventually.”

She drew back in surprise, awkwardness banished. “So I can die? I can be killed?” She had thought she would live forever. Had the Captain not mentioned something about watching Charlotte grow old and die?

If he was exasperated by her ignorance, he hid it well. “My dear thief, as I have said before, I haven’t the slightest idea what you wished for. But unless you wished to be an immortal sea beast, then no, you are not immortal. And you did not drink enough of the well to gain immortality as a byproduct. So yes, you will die. Eventually. A terrible shame. Though you will outlive the ordinary peons, barring any violent or unlucky event.”

That was not so bad. “Could I not…” An idea came to her. She mulled it over before continuing. “Could I not go to the wishing well again, wish to be rid of these things, and get something else instead? Something a little more traditional, unending riches or something?”

He tipped his glass to her. “Bravo. I was wondering when you would come up with it.” She narrowed her eyes at his patronising tone, which he ignored. “Do you not think others before you have tried to reverse their wishes, hm?”

“Are you saying it cannot be done?” Her spirits sank. It had seemed like such a good idea.

“I am afraid not. Regrets alone cannot persuade the wishing well. It gives one wish to those that find it, and one wish only.”

She did not like the sound of that. “You speak of it as if it is alive.”

“It controls destiny itself. It has a will of its own.” He grimaced. “This is not what I wanted to discuss. The well has never interested me beyond what I could get out of it. If you want the specifics, you should ask the others who have drank, some of them have made a study of the thing. What I wanted to set to rights was the issue of your place aboard the ship.”

“I thought we already had.”

His good mood vanished altogether at her pert reply and he cast her a sharp gaze. “Not to my liking, we didn’t. Entertain the crew! Preposterous.”

She grimaced. “Put like that, it does sound bad. But Smee says the crew enjoy having me aboard. I would have thought that morale would be important on long voyages.”

He threw down his fork to glare at her across the table. “Miss Westwood, I do not give a damn what the crew enjoy, or whatever ideas the learned philosopher Smee has been putting in your pretty head. Surely you can see that there is only one person on ship who is your equal. One man that you should be spending any time with whatsoever.”

She threw him a Look. She did not know if he could understand it, but if Charlotte had been there, she probably would have winced. “Oh, I see your meaning.” She said in a dangerous tone.

The Captain’s expression became expectant, bordering on hopeful. She continued, “You wish me to spend all my time with Saltson from now on.”

The Captain hissed and his expression turned thunderous. “Saltson! Damnit, vile woman, you are a Drinker of the wishing well, however ill the thing may have treated you! To sink so below your station as to associate with those lowly-”

She ran right over him. She was no meek servant to be ordered about.  “I am aboard a pirate vessel. Everyone on this ship, from yourself to the lowest deck-scrubber, is beneath me.”

A lesser man would have lost his composure altogether, but Hook could control his temper when it suited him. “You realise,” He replied with the air of a man about to play his last card, “That I went to Eton, do you not?” He proudly drew himself up a little.

She scoffed. “Anyone can go anywhere with enough money. Where you went to school is no consequence to me. What you have done with your life since then is what makes a man.”

He went still. “Is that right?” He drawled. She ignored the screaming voice of common sense in her mind. She would not be told who to speak with by anyone. Even Father had never sought to control her in such a way, and she had respected his opinion and loved him. No pirate would do what he could not.

She carried on recklessly, “I may be only a merchant’s daughter, but I am a good citizen of His Majesty, at least. Unlike you.”

“Really. So very humble of you to at least rank yourself below a King.” He smiled and caressed his wine glass thoughtfully. In a low voice, he said to himself, “How unfortunate. I had been about to offer you a share in our takings. No matter. I imagine that is all beneath an esteemed merchant's daughter such as yourself.”

Takings?

And just like that, he had her. Anna-Maria was not stupid. She knew she was being manipulated, but that didn’t make the prize any less tempting. Damn him. “Treasure?” She tried not to lick her lips. “Money?” Did she sound desperate? She felt desperate.

“Oh yes. There’s plenty to go round. But-” He heaved a great sigh. “All the more for me, I suppose.” He pulled a parchment out of his coat and threw it down the table. “I had been planning to make you a crewman, in name, at least, so you could have some of the spoils. But no, I see now…”

He kept talking in his usual grand manner, but she was no longer listening as she took up the parchment. She scanned through it as carefully and cynically as she had seen Father do with his own contracts and correspondences. She did not like what she saw. The matter of her duties was worryingly vague, simply written as, ‘ _Reasonable orders will be carried out by the crewman._ ’

Who exactly decided what was considered a reasonable order? Surely the Captain, and she could imagine all too well how quickly such a thing could go wrong. But she was not against the idea, even if it would need rewording. Far from it, for a woman to be able to make her fortune was such a rare opportunity that she would be a fool to let it slip through her fingers. Father had raised her to be proud but not lazy, like some of the natural born aristocrats were. She was not adverse to work if there was something in it for her.

Still studying the scroll, she asked, “What is this talk of shares? Oh, shares of the plunder, you mean? Hm. What exactly are ‘general duties’? If it is something nefarious, I will not sign to it.”

At that moment, she was so distracted by her reading that she did not see how the Captain’s spirit raged at her accusation. “Must you always be so suspicious of me?”

To that, she said nothing. If she answered him, they would be here all day and she might lose her opportunity to make a living for herself.

He rolled his eyes dramatically at her silence. “Fine. Perhaps a little work in the Crow’s Nest when I have need of it. Your vision will be keener than any other crewman.”

“Will I be expected to kill people?”

Intrigued, Hook cocked his head a little. “Would you like to?”

She was shocked by the question. “Would I-? Of course not. But I won’t be asked to?”

“No. I could hardly force you. In fact, I would prefer you stayed out of that sort of thing altogether. I may be immortal, but you are not.”

She let out a breath. She had been worried that he would try to use her ink for his own gain. “What shall I do if there is fighting? Perhaps I should be taught how to defend myself.”

He gave her an incredulous look and she elaborated, “It is not a matter of want, but of need. What if we come under attack?”

The Captain laughed boldly. “I assure you, no one comes on my ship unless I want them here. The seas have not yet made a sailor who can outfight me, let alone outmanoeuvre me. Simply stay in your room. On no accounts should you go up on deck when we are engaged. Leave the violence to me.”

It was hard to know which parts of his claims were true and which were exaggerations, or outright lies. But clearly he would not budge, and if he was willing to compromise on so many things, she thought that she should do the same. She thought of her room, of Charlotte safely on her way home with all that money, and of a crew that loved her, whether she deserved it or not.

And, most importantly, she thought of having enough money to feed her need for cards and dice.

She looked down at the parchment again and frowned. “I have no way of knowing if this is a good bargain.” She said honestly. “I don’t know how much these shares are worth. And I will not tolerate being treated like the rest of the crew.”

He waved that last objection off. “Your status makes that impossible. And as for the subject of pay, it is more than any other crewman is paid. You will be paid nearly as much as myself. You may check the books if you doubt me.”

She threw caution to the wind. “Then… I suppose I will agree.”

He let out an exaggerated groan of relief. “Superb. I had no idea convincing you to accept money would be so difficult.”

She bristled at that. Was she really that transparent? The Captain said consolingly, “Oh, do not look so dejected, my dear serpent. A lust for gold is the norm on a pirate ship.”

She did not trust his newfound generosity one bit, so she decided to review the parchment later with Smee, just to be sure. But if he really was offering her money for so little work, she did not know how she could refuse him. She had seen how much treasure the ship could carry. A fair share of that could help her in the future. She had meant it when she had said that money could get you anywhere. With enough pirate gold behind her, she could afford to live on land. She could afford wigs, and servants paid well enough to be quiet, and a life unattached to a husband. And she could afford her gambling. She could not pretend that her lust for it did not influence her reasoning, even in so crucial a matter.

She did not know how long she would be on the Jolly Roger for, but if it’s Captain was willing to help her, she would be only too happy to oblige him.

Eventually the Captain called out for the second course and crewmen came in with yet more dishes of food. Some of them were men she did not recognise, and one in particular gave her a spiteful glare that made her avert her eyes. She heard the Captain grunt under his breath. As the men left the room, she was able to look up again, and saw the Captain leaning back in his chair.

“I thought you enjoyed the company of pirates, Miss Westwood. Do not tell me you are growing shy of us now.”

“Some pirates can be… amiable.” He raised an eyebrow in interest. “But not all.”

“Not that one? Rest easy, I shall not allow harm to come to you.”

“Because of our truce?”

“That is a part of it, yes.”

He wanted her to ask for the rest of it, she knew, but Anna-Maria would not take the bait. She had been led around the nose by him enough for one morning. She instead let herself lapse into silence, picking at her food and drinking the wine Captain Hook always seemed to have on the table. Did the man ever drink anything else? But he never seemed to be drunk. Perhaps her estimation in the tavern was right and she would be sober for as long as she lived.

However long that was.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The day passed slowly. She picked up one of her books but could not read more than a page without looking at her window at the sea. Eventually she threw the book down with a groan, knowing that she hadn’t taken in a word of it. She had never been much of a reader, even before her life had become something from a children’s story. She found herself preoccupied with thoughts of the life she had left behind, though she had accepted that this was for the best. For her family and for her. The craving had not gone away as she had hoped it would after all her months at sea. If she had stayed another night she knew that she would have found herself in a gambling house again. What would she have done then? Ask Charlotte to lend her money, just when her sister had finally broken free of her? Or worse, confess her need to the Captain? Surely that would be beyond the powers of her compulsion.

Or at least, she hoped so.

There was a knocking upon her door, breaking her dark chain of thought. “Who is it?” She called out warily.

“It’s only me, Long Eye.” And sure enough, she opened the door to see the tall marksman. He was dressed in his mismatched pirate rags again. “The Captain has called us all above deck. He wants you to join us, Miss.”

For a moment she considered refusing, but as pretty as her room now was, she found it hard to stay in it for long. She had seen civilisation again and the closeness of the walls, even adorned by art as they now were, was too much for her. She longed to see open spaces again. As much as she couldn’t see how a meeting of all the crew could bode well for her, she would like some fresh air.

When she and Pete climbed up on deck, she saw that almost every inch of space was crammed full with pirates. They hung from the rigging, clambered up on barrels and some of them even lounged upon the great cannon Long Tom. At a few soft words from her, the crew shuffled to give her breathing room, nearly knocking poor Half Dead Jack into the sea as they did.

With one hand upon the helm was their master, Captain Hook, who had taken the time to cover himself in gold and jewels. And then there were the new pirates, all bunched together, shoulder to grimy shoulder, with Smee standing before them in his ragged tartan pantaloons, shivering in the cold. Anna-Maria had to fight hard to keep her disgust and fear from showing. The new men looked even worse when they were all grouped together, if that was possible. Even her pirates, Pete and Bell and all the rest, looked uneasy around them, like sheep penned in with wolves.

Smee cleared his throat to address them, “You know this is no ordinary ship. The Captain’s word is law on the Jolly Roger. There will be no elections. No wages for six months, exceptin’ board. You’re all expected to do whatever you’re told, no matter the order. And in return, your pay will make other pirates wages look like pennies. And if pillage is what you want, it’s what you get when you serve on this ship.”

Some of the more seniors members of the crew cried out ‘aye!’ and brandished their weapons in the air savagely. She despaired of them then, her jolly sailors who had begged her to tell stories and sat with her when her nightmares were bad. She did not think they could be saved from their bloodlust, any more than she could be saved from her own sins.

Smee concluded his troubling speech by choosing men (seemingly at random) to serve as carpenters, surgeons assistants and the like. Three men were even chosen as launderers, much to their obvious confusion and disgruntlement. The idea of those barbarians doing laundry made her snigger, but she squashed it quickly when she saw one of them glare at her. Not in a playful way, nor even in the malicious way Hook had when they had first met, but with such hate that a woman armed with less bravery and more common sense would have run screaming at the sight of it. Being herself, however, she lifted up her chin at him in stubborn defiance.

At that moment, Captain Hook spoke up. “Dogs, you can see that a woman is aboard the ship. Some of you may have seen women at some point in your sordid existence.” The new crewmen laughed nervously. They did not seem to know what to make of the well spoken Captain Hook in his tailored suit and elaborate hair, so at odds with the rest of the ship. “For the purpose of this voyage, and for all voyages hereafter, any man who lays so much as an eye upon her with ill intent shall wish that I had only hung, drawn and quartered him.” The ship went deadly quiet and all the new men looked down at their feet in fear. “Obey her, respect her. That is all. Unless you have anything further to add, Miss Westwood?”

What could she say to that? But she saw her pirates were looking at her encouragingly. She felt Pete nudge her side gently. She cleared her throat and said loftily, “That will do.”

The Captain broke the spell with a roar, “Well, get to it men! If this ship isn’t in Spanish waters in four days, you’ll regret the day you were born!”

As soon as the men dispersed, the Captain approached her, pushing aside and swiping his hook at men who did not move out of his way fast enough. One of the new men caught the point of the hook across the cheek and he almost complained, before whimpering at the fierce look in the Captain’s eyes and scurrying away as fast as his legs could carry him.  

What did he want from her now? “Captain.”   

“Miss Westwood.” He bowed low and swept off his hat for her.

She nearly rolled her eyes. He was obviously in one of his moods, but she was as curious as ever. “You told the new crewmen not to hurt me. Why would you do that for me?”

“I have no desire to break my end of the bargain, as you may recall. While you are a part of my crew, you are under my protection.”

That was a ridiculous thing to say and she was not going to let him get away with it. “Captain, you do not care about your crew, much less protect them.”

“Well, no, why the devil would I? But you are not some pustulent, illiterate cretin. You are one of my own. My only concern is to ensure your happiness and-” her sudden snort stopped him in his tracks, “Alright, you fastidious thing, the sad truth of it is that if any harm should befall you, I would-” He paused for a moment.

“You would what?”

“I would miss you. There. You will laugh at me again, or call me a liar and say this is another scheme, no doubt. But it is the truth. I have come to quite enjoy your company, despite your regrettable assaults on my person.”

His bare-faced honesty knocked her back, and she could only reply, “It is hard to believe.” But she could not ignore it any longer. Even George had pointed it out. “How could you enjoy the company of a woman who has tried to kill you? Who you treated as an enemy when we first met?”

“An enemy? How you do love to pontificate. Woman, if you had ever been my enemy, you would lie in a watery grave even now.” The monstrous face he had shown to her when they had first met came to the surface in a cruel glimmer, then vanished again with words as smooth as honey. “Sweet snake, we were merely… caught on opposing sides of the same game. An unfortunate circumstance that we both regret, I think.”

_An unfortunate circumstance?_ How he still trivialised his crimes against her. She lashed out at his most vulnerable point; his pride. “Was it admired at Eton; your habit of toying with those who cannot defend themselves? To pit yourself against unarmed, helpless opponents, while you are surrounded by allies and have so rigged the game that you are beyond death?

But once again, he was not as injured as she might have hoped. “You may call yourself helpless, if you wish. Certainly it would satisfy your melodramatic whims, though it is far from true. And while we are on the subject, Miss Westwood, I will have you know that some of the most savage and relentless foes I have ever encountered have been women.” He paused. “Armed or not, you would certainly qualify.”

Her? A savage and relentless foe? The idea was so charming that she forgot most of her anger. “Because of that trick with the ink?”

“And the rest. Do not think that I have forgotten your little plots against me. The mutiny, the murder of my crewmen, both on the island and on my own ship. You are quite a dangerous creature. And that business with the sharks was-.”

She felt the blood drain from her face. “What business with the sharks?” She demanded, looking at the crew, who seemed intent on ignoring them. Whenever their paths crossed, they parted before the two of them like a river around boulders. For all intents and purposes, they were alone, even while surrounded on all sides.

Hook did not have eyes for the crew at all and continued gaily on, “Oh, that night you killed three of my men, and ruined some particularly fine costumes. The night with all the pillaging.”He did not break stride as he recounted the atrocities of that night. There was not a shred of guilt in him, she realised. They could have been discussing the weather rather than the utter destruction of an innocent ship and all its sailors. His gaze became piercing as he taunted, “You must recall? I am sure you have not killed so many men that such an evening could have slipped your mind entirely.”

“You are mistaken.” How had he known? She had thought that her descent into mindless evil had been her secret. “I have no idea what you mean.”

He would not be deceived by so obvious a lie and retorted, “I am never mistaken. It is one thing to try to eat a man, but another entirely to forget the whole thing. You insult me. Though you were not quite yourself at the time, so I may forgive you.” He laughed at her shocked and reddening face and said with a hint of bitterness, “I assure you, I am quite experienced at being eaten. If I had not put you to sleep, you would have managed it, I think. Vicious creature.” His eyes admired her in a way that only made her redder.

His casual way of speaking of terrible things was so strange that her mind sometimes reeled as she listened to him. “Put me to sleep? Eaten you?” She asked weakly.

By the time he had regaled her with the whole tale (significantly embellished, as was his way) Anna-Maria was ready to pull out what was left of her hair. She had thought the traumatic and humiliating affair could remain her own business, for the sake of her pride, if nothing else. Charlotte had always impressed the importance of putting on a good face to the world, and for him to have seen her at such a time... Not only that, but his story only confirmed her suspicion that she could be a danger to others while possessed by these visions. She had killed three crewmen; dashed their brains against the walls if Hook was to be believed. And she did believe him. She was only glad she had not killed anyone she had cared about. Yet.

For the first time she hated the well, faustian thing that it was.

It was all just so unjust. She had not drank from the well knowing what it was, or even with any bad intentions. How could the thing have the right or the power to destroy her life? She had been caught up in a contract she had never signed. It was not fair.

“I have damned myself forever, and all because I was thirsty. I am finished.” She ranted, coming to a stop before the railing.

She was so distracted that she had not really considered where she was going, and before she could stop herself, her eyes had gone down, down into the gentle waves. The sea was calm and grey and mesmerising. Her lips parted as she stared downwards. The whispers came into her mind again and she thought she could see something moving in the depths. She would have groaned with despair, if she could. She had hoped they would leave her alone; they had been quiet since she had come back aboard. Apparently it had only been a reprieve.

Then the whispers intensified and it crossed her mind that she would very much like to go for a swim in the ocean.

She did not notice Hook gazing at her thoughtfully, then looking down into the sea as he tried to fathom what it was that so fascinated her. Then he saw a fin break the surface of the water and he understood, and approached to stand beside her.  

“Do you hear them now?” He asked softly. His hook came to rest on the railing beside her hand.

She nodded wordlessly.

“Is it a… torment for you? It must be dreadful, to hear the thoughts of such creatures.” His hook inched a little closer to her hand. “You see them in your dreams, do you not? That is why you cry out in the night. You feel yourself being eaten alive, torn to shreds by a thousand sharp teeth.”

Whether or not he meant to do it, his words broke the enchantment of the sea and the beasts in it. She blinked owlishly as she came back to herself. “Yes.”

His black heart danced with glee. “Perhaps we can help one another, you and I. I have some experience when it comes to ravenous beasts such as these.”

She looked at him in disbelief, then with discomfort as she realised that they were standing shoulder to shoulder, looking out at the sea. To the many uninformed eyes aboard the Jolly Roger, she knew that his nearness could be construed as something... inappropriate. Romantic, even.

“Don’t look so shocked. I know what it is to be hunted.” He stared down into the grey expanse of the ocean. He looked mortal in that moment. Maybe all men did, compared to the sea.  

Seeing him standing there, she thought she could remember something. A glimmer in the dark hour of the night that she had forgotten. She could see the pallor of his face above hers, lit only by the light of the moon. He had been staring down at her with wild-eyed terror. The sort of fear that made you feel sick to your bones. The sort of fear she had felt when she saw his ship for the first time. He had looked so lost. Had whatever had hunted him put that terror in his eyes? Even when he had drank the glass of poison she had poured for him, he had not seemed so afraid.

Try as she might, she could not remember any more. But even that glimpse was enough. For the first time, she felt the first stirrings of intrigue for the Captain. Not for what he was, as she had before, but for who he was. In that memory she felt that she had seen something intensely private, something she had never been meant to see. But now she had discovered that moment again she could feel it colour her perception of him. She had meant what she had said to the crew when she had been brewing her mutiny, even if her intentions at the time had been manipulative. Men and women knew fear, and for all that Hook could not be murdered, he was still a man.

And as for Captain Hook? He had no idea that Anna-Maria had recovered the memory. If he had known that she now recalled how he had blanched and quaked with terror at the mere thought of the Crocodile, who knows what ill-considered and malicious things he may have done to recover his facade of invincibility. Captain Hook is not a man to admit fear or weakness.

But while Anna-Maria was thinking of him, he was thinking of her too, albeit in a different way.

Even at this early juncture, Captain Hook had begun to lay out a serious plan of how to convince the beautiful Anna-Maria to admire him. Allow me to be clear on this point, so that he is well understood. At this time, Hook was not in love with our heroine, though he had come to esteem her and enjoy her company so much that he had expended the effort of tricking her into deciding to remain aboard his ship of her own free will. He found her brave, resourceful, vicious and he believed that she might just be his equal, for all that she was mortal and could not wield a sword. Most often, his regard for her would have provoked him into swearing a vendetta against her, but circumstances had made that impossible. Since Anna-Maria was too dangerous to be his enemy and too willful to be his servant, Captain Hook was starting to think that she should simply be _his_.

But to his genuine shock, she had rejected and ignored his attempts at flattery and intimacy. If anything, she appeared to be disgusted by him. Her blatant dislike wounded his ego and enticed him to rise to the challenge of changing her mind. A more sensible man would have simply given up if the woman he desired had such good reason to hate him, but Hook was determined, and grew more determined with every passing day.

Despite his self-made obstacles, Hook had learned from the best manipulator and seducer imaginable. One of the most fascinating pieces of knowledge he had taken from Neverland was this; a boy could steal a girl away from her family, put her own brothers into mortal danger, even rob her of her future, but as long as he made himself look grand in the process, she would call him a hero and adore him above all others. And the more Hook turned the capricious and courageous Anna-Maria over and over in his brain, the more he thought he might like it if she adored and revered him.

Of course, our Hook would never be a hero, nor even want to be one. But he understood full well that if he wanted Anna-Maria to look upon him in the same way that he had come to look upon her, he would be wise to do something to make her see him in a more generous, less realistic light.

As he came upon the idea, a menacing smile curved his lips. “Luckily for you, the solution to your troubles is simple. When an animal is done with being prey, he simply uses his teeth. Smee! Fetch me my good musket!” Smee ran off into his master’s chambers with a nasty chuckle that made Anna-Maria worry.

Captain Hook must have seen her tentacles toss on her head, for he grimaced and hurried to reassure her, “Now now, Miss Westwood, don’t fret, I’m a man of my word. No harm will come to you.”

A procession of pirates scampered down from Hook’s chambers a very short while later, with Smee in the lead, flanked by Saltson and Pete. The three men carried a long red cushion in their arms with a solemn air, and upon the cushion was a gun, which they presented proudly to Captain Hook and Anna-Maria.

Now admittedly, Anna-Maria knew very little of guns, but even she could see that this one was impressive. It was sleek and hewn from a dark wood, and at least as long as she was tall, with gold leaf creeping up its stock. A crimson sling hung from it, embroidered with scenes of death. She studied it and saw a man, no, it was Hook, it could be none other, being eaten by a massive beast... A crocodile? And there was more; she saw a little girl tumbling into the sea. A youth on his knees, holding his entrails in his hands. Her breath caught. It was terrible, but no less magnificent for it. A weapon worthy of a siren’s song.

At a sharp word from his Captain, Pete began to pour black powder into the wide barrell of the gun. Behind him, much of the crew were tentatively creeping away from their duties to watch the spectacle.

Carefully watching her, Hook said smoothly, “If I have learned one thing over the years, woman, it is that your enemies must fear you. In your case, your enemies have no legs, which makes them rather easier to kill, don’t you think? Have you shot before?”

“You cannot mean- that I should-” He wanted her to shoot the sharks? She looked at the musket in awe and not a little anxiety. It was made to be beautiful and to kill. She couldn’t deny the thrill she felt at the sight of it. “No. Never.”

He made a little tutting sound beneath his breath. “A damn shame. Well, aren’t you lucky that I’m here? Take it up, I will show you. Look, even now the stupid beasts break the surface of the water.” And though she could not look down at the water for fear of being taken in again, she could feel their closeness.

Her hands curled and uncurled by her sides. Could she do it? She wanted to. Why should she not?

She heard one of the crewmembers encouraging her, whispering, “Pick it up, Miss.” Another took up the cry, and soon half the crew were stamping their feet and shouting, “Shoot, Miss Maria!” Though of course the new members of the crew had no idea what she would be shooting at, but they were murderers through and through and were caught up in the moment.

With a smile she did not understand, she reached out and touched the gun. It felt smooth and expectant. The crew held their breath and its Captain watched her with lidded eyes.

She took up the gun in both hands, feeling the weight of it. It felt like power. It felt like taking her life into her own hands. Her smile grew wider, and as she slipped the blood-red sash over one bare shoulder, the crew erupted into applause. In the crowd she could see Mr Bell cheering, Saltson clapping his hands, George nodding in respect. The Captain laughed with real pleasure and she felt so giddy that she almost laughed with him. How long had it been since a crowd of people had looked at her like that? Perhaps on her last ball, when Father had held her up for all the world to admire? But even that had not felt quite like this. She was not being lauded for her dress or her face, but rather for something she might do. At that moment, she did not care that they were pirates, only that they approved of her. That was as intoxicating as the gun itself.

After tutting and muttering to himself, the Captain instructed her fussily on how to hold the gun properly. She slid one hand further down the barrel and Smee tugged at the sash, tightening it around her, only leaving her be when the Captain waved him away crossly. Her heart was racing. Was she really about to shoot a gun and kill her tormentors? It was only a pity she could not kill all of her tormentors, she thought, looking at the Captain with a cool eye. Sadly, Captain Hook was far stronger an enemy than a shark. His lips twitched in a small smile and she thought something of her murderous intent might have shown in her face.

Trust the Captain to think of such a plan. It had never crossed her mind to kill the sharks. Could she do it? She wanted to. She had not much experience with vengeance, but she could avenge herself on these things without any guilt. After all, she knew very well that it was only after their assault on her that her tentacles had grown yet further, and worse, that new ones had begun to emerge, blessedly painlessly, from her head.

There had to be a swarm of sharks below, by the feel of it. She could sense their blood lust, driven up to air and their deaths by her excitement.  The question was, would she miss? She thought that if she shot at them and missed, with the Captain and all the crew behind her, she would fling herself into the sea, all consequences be damned.

Ah. Her brain caught up and the fire inside her guttered out as she realised that she could not aim. She could not even look at the sea, let alone at the sharks themselves, not without risking her sanity. As Captain Hook tweaked the gun in her grip once more, she almost threw it down and walked away. But how could she, with the whole crew standing right behind her?

Ignorant of her plight, Captain Hook was proclaiming, “Now, killing usually requires practice before you can really excel, but in this case,” The Captain peered over the railing, “There are so many of the damn things, I doubt you could miss. It will be like shooting fish in a barrel. Have at it.” He waved his hook expansively in the direction of the sea.

She hesitated, mind racing to think of some plausible lie she could tell. A headache? Suspicious. A vow of pacifism? He would never believe it. He knew that she had killed before.

It was too late. The Captain was looking at her and frowning. Those pale eyes saw too much. She spun around and faced the sea with her eyes screwed closed, her fingers tight around the musket.

“Ah. You are nervous of guns, perhaps.” His voice became a whip-crack. “Give the lady some breathing room, bilge rats! She has never shot before!” Behind her, she heard the crew quickly shuffling back.

Captain Hook stood behind her. “Go on, pull the trigger. They have hunted you across the sea. They have even followed you into your dreams.” He leaned in closer to whisper into her ear in his clipped voice, “Why hesitate? Make them regret it. Make them fear you.”

She turned her head away from the sea, just enough to look at him. He was close enough that she could smell him, she realised. It was not entirely unpleasant. Masculine, since women did not often smell of smoke and alcohol. Very, very quietly, she said. “I can’t look down. I can’t look at them.”

She felt a ripple of surprise run through him, and he cocked an eyebrow elegantly in an unspoken question.

Simply, honestly, she said under her breath, “I am too afraid.”

She waited for him to humiliate her. It would be so easy for him. He could crow about the weakness of the woman who tried to overthrow him, and all the crew would mock her and her fledgling sense of belonging would be destroyed. She would be a joke, a coward. She waited for it.

But it did not come. Instead, he moved closer until his chest was flush against her back. At her astonishment, he shushed her and said, “Allow me. We will do it together.” She hesitated. “The men shall not know a thing. You have my word.”

She faced the waves with her eyes still closed. Every nerve in her body was tingling. The stink of the sea was so strong up here, and the creaking of the ship filled the air. She felt Captain Hook guiding the musket down, just a little, and then to the left.

Into the shell of her ear, he murmured, “Pull the trigger. Now.”

There was no time to question anything. She felt the gun crying to be used in her hands.

She pulled the trigger. Everything happened at once.

The bang was deafeningly loud.

Agony ripped through the left side of her head. She saw a sun blazing behind her eyes. She fell back against Hook as the strength of her legs deserted her. Her brain pulsed and she heard a scream beneath the waves, then visceral rage and hate. The pain dulled, and only the rampaging of the sharks were left. Minus one.

As her ears and mind recovered, she could hear Captain Hook roaring. “Back, dogs, back!” He stopped as he felt her stirring against him. He turned back to her in concern. “Miss Westwood, I thought you had fainted. Let go of the musket, I have it.”

She took a deep breath of the reeking air. Was that what gunpowder smelt like? It helped sharpen her thoughts, if nothing else. “No. No. Another.” She felt one less shark in her mind. She had killed one. But it was not enough.

At a nod from his Captain, Pete took the musket from her and began reloading it. She was still leaning against him, and pulled herself up with a little effort. She _had_ almost fainted, but she was stronger now.

Pete handed her the musket and, forcing her eyes open, she aimed in the general direction of the sharks. They were in a frenzy, madly fighting each other for the scraps of their fallen brother. They were far too busy to invade her. “Is this close enough?” She asked Hook. Eyes open or not, she was a novice.

“A little lower. Excellent. Now.”

She pulled the trigger.

Again the bang, and again the pain. Her back ripped upon with a searing, white heat and would have dropped the gun if not for the Captain’s hand.

But the shark was not dead yet, only crippled and in agony. _Good._ She thought viciously.

She turned to face the crew. “Pete.” She had to speak loudly to hear herself over the delirium of the sharks. She met Hook’s eyes brazenly. He looked at her with open satisfaction and something else she could not define. But she had no time for the Captain’s secrets now. “Load it again.” She demanded, and Pete obeyed. The crew cheered her.

Again and again she fired her hatred and rejection into the sea. All her fury did not make up for her lack of skill and she needed Hook’s guidance more than once, whether by a soft word or a subtle hand on the gun.

“Ah-! So close. Could the beasts not accept their fate, rather than swimming around so? Try again, Miss Westwood. You are quite the shot.”

But thanks to his corrections and the sheer numbers of the sharks in the water, she rarely missed completely. It hurt, it hurt so badly, but she hated them more than she feared pain. She screamed with rage and anguish as gunfire painted her legs in red agony.

One of the sharks spoke to her then. In tones of terror and outrage, it cried, _“Stop, One From Above, stop hunting us! We will swim for warmer waters!”_ She thought it might have been the same one who had spoken to her when she came aboard the ship. Their leader?

_“Yes. You will.”_ She thought nastily.

And then, with one last shot, they were gone. Her mind felt hollow, but her heart was full to the brim. The once grey water had been stained red as rubies. She could barely stand, but as she pressed the musket into Hook’s arms, she tipped her head back and laughed for joy.

They were all dead. She was free. She was invincible.

Leaning over the edge, she screamed into the water, “Come back again, and I will shoot you all!”

The crew roared, and the Captain cried out rapturously, _'Bravissimo!'_  Tears sprung up into her eyes. The Captain began to coo and wipe at her nose with a lace handkerchief. It came away red with blood. She had not noticed that she was bleeding, and she did not care.

She had never felt so proud of herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quote for this chapter, now that it is finished: “No sheth an sary' (No herb shall heal like blood on the steel)” ― by Joel Shepherd, from his wonderful book Tracato.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as we did. I am sorry for the wait, but the vast majority of part two is now done. I am hoping for the next chapter to be ready for upload soon. 
> 
>  
> 
> Bosun Marcella here! So I think we have never changed so much in one chapter as we did in this one! So I hope you will like this chapter because we’ve done everything to perfect it! I think this part is the start of the feelings, so it is pretty important y’know. And for Anna-Maria it’s the first time she conquered her fears! Over all, this chapter is probably one of my favourites. Well, as the first chapter of part two, I’m satisfied, there will be many great chapters to part 2 so sit tight! And see you next update!


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